THE  PORTYGEE 


ALBERT,      ISN'T      IT?" 


THE  PORTYGEE 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 


AUTHOR  OF 

"SHAVINGS,"  "EXTRICATING  OBADIAH,'* 
"MARY  'GUSTA,"  BTC. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

H.    M.    BRETT 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1919,  1920,  by 
THB  BUTTERICK  PUBLISHING  Co. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  PORTYGEE 


THE  PORTYGEE 


CHAPTER  I 

OVERHEAD  the  clouds  cloaked  the  sky;  a  ragged 
cloak  it  was,  and,  here  and  there,  a  star  shone 
through  a  hole,  to  be  obscured  almost  instantly  as 
more  cloud  tatters  were  hurled  across  the  rent.  The  pines 
threshed  on  the  hill  tops.  The  bare  branches  of  the  wild- 
cherry  and  silverleaf  trees  scraped  and  rattled  and  tossed. 
And  the  wind,  the  raw,  chilling  December  wind,  driven  in, 
wet  and  salty,  from  the  sea,  tore  over  the  dunes  and  brown 
uplands  and  across  the  frozen  salt-meadows,  screamed 
through  the  telegraph  wires,  and  made  the  platform  of  the 
dismal  South  Harniss  railway  station  the  lonesomest,  cold 
est,  darkest  and  most  miserable  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
At  least  that  was  the  opinion  of  the  seventeen-year-old 
boy  whom  the  down  train  —  on  time  for  once  and  a  wonder 
—  had  just  deposited  upon  that  platform.  He  would  not 
have  discounted  the  statement  one  iota.  The  South 
Harniss  station  platform  was  the  most  miserable  spot  on 
earth  and  he  was  the  most  miserable  human  being  upon  it. 
And  this  last  was  probably  true,  for  there  were  but  three 
other  humans  upon  that  platform  and,  judging  by  externals, 
they  seemed  happy  enough.  One  was  the  station  agent,  who 
was  just  entering  the  building  preparatory  to  locking  up 
for  the  night,  and  the  others  were  Jim  Young,  driver  of 
the  "  depot  wagon,"  and  Doctor  Holliday,  the  South  Har 
niss  "  homeopath,"  who  had  been  up  to  a  Boston  hospital 
with  a  patient  and  was  returning  home.  Jim  was  whistling 
"  Silver  Bells,"  a  tune  much  in  vogue  the  previous  summer, 
and  Doctor  Holliday  was  puffing  at  a  cigar  and  knocking 


THE  PORTYGEE 


his  feet  together  to  keep  them  warm  while  waiting  to  get 
into  the  depot  wagon.  These  were  the  only  people  in  sight 
and  they  were  paying  no  attention  whatever  to  the  lonely 
figure  at  the  other  end  of  the  platform. 

The  boy  looked  about  him.  The  station,  with  its  sickly 
yellow  gleam  of  kerosene  lamp  behind  its  dingy  window- 
:x.n'_.  was  apparently  the  only  inhabited  spot  in  a  barren 
wilderness.  At  the  edge  of  the  platform  civilization  seemed 
to  end  and  beyond  was  nothing  but  a  black  earth  and  a 
black  sky,  tossing  trees  and  howling  wind,  and  cold  —  raw, 
damp,  penetrating  cold.  Compared  wi^h  this  even  the  stuffy 
plush  seats  and  smelly  warmth  of  the  car  he  had  just  left 
appeared  temptingly  homelike  and  luxurious.  All  the  way 
down  from  the  city  he  had  sneered  inwardly  at  a  one-horse 
railroad  which  ran  no  Pullmans  on  its  Cape  branch  in 
winter  time.  Now  he  forgot  his  longing  for  mahogany 
veneer  and  individual  chairs  and  would  gladly  have  boarded 
a  freight  car,  provided  there  were  in  it  a  lamp  and  a  stove. 

The  light  in  the  station  was  extinguished  and  the  agent 
came  out  with  a  jingling  bunch  of  keys  and  locked  the  door. 
"  Good-night,  Jim,"  he  shouted,  and  walked  off  into  the 
blackness.  Jim  responded  with  a  "  good-night "  of  his 
own  and  climbed  aboard  the  wagon,  into  the  dark  interior 
of  which  the  doctor  had  preceded  him.  The  boy  at  the 
other  end  of  the  platform  began  to  be  really  alarmed.  It 
looked  as  if  all  living  things  were  abandoning  him  and  he 
was  to  be  left  marooned,  to  starve  or  freeze,  provided  he 
was  not  blown  away  first. 

He  picked  up  the  suitcase  —  an  expensive  suitcase  it 
was,  elaborately  strapped  and  buckled,  with  a  telescope  back 
and  gold  fittings  —  and  hastened  toward  the  wagon.  Mr. 
Young  had  just  picked  up  the  reins. 

"  Oh, —  oh,  I  say !  "  faltered  the  boy.  We  have  called 
him  "  the  boy  "  all  this  time,  but  he  did  not  consider  him 
self  a  boy,  he  esteemed  himself  a  man,  if  not  full-grown 
physically,  certainly  so  mentally.  A  man,  with  all  a  man's 
wisdom,  and  more  besides  —  the  great,  the  all-embracing 
wisdom  of  his  age,  or  youth. 


THE  PORTYGEE 


"  Here,  I  say !  Just  a  minute ! "  he  repeated.  Jim 
Young  put  his  head  around  the  edge  of  the  wagon  curtain. 
"Eh?"  he  queried.  "Eh?  Who's  talkin'?  Oh,  was  it 
you,  young  feller  ?  Did  you  want  me  ?  " 

The  young  fellow  replied  that  he  did.  "This  is  South 
Harniss,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Young  chuckled.  "Darn  sure  thing,"  he  drawled. 
"  I  give  in  that  it  looks  consider'ble  like  Boston,  or  Provi 
dence,  R.  I.,  or  some  of  them  capitols,  but  it  ain't,  it's  South 
Harniss,  Cape  Cod." 

Doctor  Holliday,  on  the  back  seat  of  the  depot  wagon, 
chuckled.  Jim  did  not;  he  never  laughed  at  his  own  jokes. 
And  his  questioner  did  not  chuckle,  either. 

"  Does  a  —  does  a  Mr.  Snow  live  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  answer  was  prompt,  if  rather  indefinite.  "  Um-hm," 
said  the  driver.  "  No  less'n  fourteen  of  him  lives  here. 
Which  one  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  A  Mr.  Z.  Snow." 

"Mr.  Z.  Snow,  eh?  Humph!  I  don't  seem  to  recollect 
any  Mr.  Z.  Snow  around  nowadays.  There  used  to  be  a 
Ziba  Snow,  but  he's  dead.  'Twan't  him  you  wanted,  was 
it?" 

"  No.  The  one  I  want  is  —  is  a  Captain  Snow.  Cap 
tain — "  he  paused  before  uttering  the  name  which  to  his 
critical  metropolitan  ear  had  seemed  so  dreadfully  countri 
fied  and  humiliating ;  "  Captain  Zelotes  Snow,"  he  blurted, 
desperately. 

Jim  Young  laughed  aloud.  "  Good  land,  Doc !  "  he  cried, 
turning  toward  his  passenger ;  "  I  swan  I  clean  forgot  that 
Cap'n  Lote's  name  begun  with  a  Z.  Cap'n  Lote  Snow? 
Why,  darn  sure !  I  ...  Eh  ? "  He  stopped  short,  evi 
dently  struck  by  a  new  idea.  "  Sho !  "  he  drawled,  slowly. 
"  Why,  I  declare  I  believe  you're  .  .  .  Yes,  of  course !  I 
heard  they  was  expectin'  you.  Doc,  you  know  who  'tis, 
don't  you  ?  Cap'n  Lote's  grandson ;  Janie's  boy." 

He  took  the  lighted  lantern  from  under  the  wagon  seat 
and  held  it  up  so  that  its  glow  shone  upon  the  face  of  the 
youth  standing  by  the  wheel. 


THE  PORTYGEE 


"  Hum,"  he  mused.  "  Don't  seem  to  favor  Janie  much, 
does  he,  Doc.  Kind  of  got  her  mouth  and  chin,  though. 
Remember  that  sort  of  good-lookin'  set  to  her  mouth  she 
had?  And  she  got  it  from  old  Cap'n  Lo  '  himself.  This 
boy's  face  must  be  more  like  his  pa's,  I  cal'late.  Don't  you 
cal'late  so,  Doc  ?  " 

Whether  Doctor  Holliday  cal'lated  so  or  not  he  did  not 
say.  It  may  be  that  he  thought  this  cool  inspection  of 
and  discussion  concerning  a  stranger,  even  a  juvenile 
stranger,  somewhat  embarrassing  to  its  object.  Or  the 
lantern  light  may  have  shown  him  an  ominous  pucker  be 
tween  the  boy's  black  brows  and  a  flash  of  temper  in  the 
big  black  eyes  beneath  them.  At  any  rate,  instead  of  re 
plying  to  Mr.  Young,  he  said,  kindly : 

"  Yes,  Captain  Snow  lives  in  the  village.  If  you  are 
going  to  his  house  get  right  in  here.  I  live  close  by,  my 
self." 

"  Darned  sure ! "  agreed  Mr.  Young,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Hop  right  in,  sonny." 

But  the  boy  hesitated.  Then,  haughtily  ignoring  the 
driver,  he  said :  "  I  thought  Captain  Snow  would  be  here 
to  meet  me.  He  wrote  that  he  would." 

The  irrepressible  Jim  had  no  idea  of  remaining  ignored. 
"  Did  Cap'n  Lote  write  you  that  he'd  be  here  to  the  depot  ?  " 
he  demanded.  "  All  right,  then  he'll  be  here,  don't  you 
fret.  I  presume  likely  that  everlastin'  mare  of  his  has  eat 
herself  sick  again;  eh,  Doc?  By  godfreys  domino,  the 
way  they  pet  and  stuff  that  fool  horse  is  a  sin  and  a  shame. 
It  ain't  Lote's  fault  so  much  as  'tis  his  wife's  —  she's  re 
sponsible.  Don't  you  fret,  Bub,  the  cap'n'll  be  here  for 
you  some  time  to-night.  If  he  said  he'll  come  he'll  come, 
even  if  he  has  to  hire  one  of  them  limmysines.  He,  he,  he ! 
All  you've  got  to  do  is  wait,  and  .  .  .  Hey!  .  .  .  Hold  on 
a  minute !  .  .  .  Bub !  " 

The  boy  was  walking  away.  And  to  hail  him  as  "  Bub  " 
was,  although  Jim  Young  did  not  know  it,  the  one  way 
least  likely  to  bring  him  back. 

"  Bub !  "  shouted  Jim  again.     Receiving  no  reply  he  added 


THE  PORTYGEE 


what  he  had  intended  saying.  "  If  I  run  afoul  of  Cap'n 
Lote  anywheres  on  the  road,"  he  called,  "  I'll  tell  him  you're 
here  a-waitin'.  So  long,  Bub.  Git  dap,  Chain  LightninV 

The  horse,  thus  complimented,  pricked  up  one  ear,  lifted 
a  foot,  and  jogged  off.  The  depot  wagon  became  merely 
a  shadowy  smudge  against  the  darkness  of  the  night.  For 
a  few  minutes  the  "  chock,  chock  "  of  the  hoofs  upon  the 
frozen  road  and  the  rattle  of  wheels  gave  audible  evidence 
of  its  progress.  Then  these  died  away  and  upon  the  wind 
swept  platform  of  the  South  Harniss  station  descended  the 
black  gloom  of  lonesomeness  so  complete  as  to  make  that 
which  had  been  before  seem,  by  comparison,  almost  cheer 
ful. 

The  youth  upon  that  platform  turned  up  his  coat  collar, 
thrust  his  gloved  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  shivered. 
Then,  still  shivering,  he  took  a  brisk  walk  up  and  down 
beside  the  suitcase  and,  finally,  circumnavigated  the  little 
station.  The  voyage  of  discovery  was  unprofitable;  there 
was  nothing  to  discover.  So  far  as  he  could  see  —  which 
was  by  no  means  far  —  upon  each  side  of  the  building  was 
nothing  but  bare  fields  and  tossing  pines,  and  wind  and  cold 
and  blackness.  He  came  to  anchor  once  more  by  the  suit 
case  and  drew  a  long,  hopeless  breath. 

He  thought  of  the  cheery  dining  room  at  the  school  he 
had  left  the  day  before.  Dinner  would  be  nearly  over  by 
now.  The  fellows  were  having  dessert,  or,  probably,  were 
filing  out  into  the  corridors,  the  younger  chaps  to  go  to  the 
study  hall  and  the  older  ones  —  the  lordly  seniors,  of  whom 
he  had  been  one  —  on  the  way  to  their  rooms.  The  picture 
of  his  own  cheerful,  gay  room  in  the  senior  corridor  was 
before  his  mind ;  of  that  room  as  it  was  before  the  telegram 
came,  before  the  lawyer  came  with  the  letter,  before  the 
end  of  everything  as  he  knew  it  and  the  beginning  of  —  this. 
He  had  not  always  loved  and  longed  for  that  school  as  he 
loved  and  longed  for  it  now.  There  had  been  times  when 
he  referred  to  it  as  "  the  old  jail,"  and  professed  to  hate  it. 
But  it  had  been  the  only  real  home  he  had  known  since  he 
was  eight  years  old  and  now  he  looked  back  upon  it  as  a 


6  THE  PORTYGEE 

fallen  angel  might  have  looked  back  upon  Paradise.  He 
sighed  again,  choked  and  hastily  drew  his  gloved  hand  across 
his  eyes.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  it  is  very  unmanly  to 
cry,  but,  at  that  age  also,  manhood  and  boyhood  are  closely 
intermingled.  He  choked  again  and  then,  squaring  his 
shoulders,  reached  into  his  coat  pocket  for  the  silver  cig 
arette  case  which,  as  a  recent  acquisition,  was  the  pride  of 
his  soul.  He  had  just  succeeded  in  lighting  a  cigarette 
when,  borne  upon  the  wind,  he  heard  once  more  the  sound  of 
hoofs  and  wheels  and  saw  in  the  distance  a  speck  of  light 
advancing  toward  the  station. 

The  sounds  drew  nearer,  so  did  the  light.  Then  an  old- 
fashioned  buggy,  drawn  by  a  plump  little  sorrel,  pulled  up 
by  the  platform  and  a  hand  held  a  lantern  aloft. 

"  Hello !  "  hailed  a  voice.     "  Where  are  you  ?  " 

The  hail  did  not  have  to  be  repeated.  Before  the  vehicle 
reached  the  station  the  boy  had  tossed  away  the  cigarette, 
picked  up  the  suitcase,  and  was  waiting.  Now  he  strode 
into  the  lantern  light. 

"  Here  I  am,"  he  answered,  trying  hard  not  to  appear  too 
eager.  "  Were  you  looking  for  me  ?  " 

The  holder  of  the  lantern  tucked  the  reins  between  the 
whip-socket  and  the  dash  and  climbed  out  of  the  buggy. 
He  was  a  little  man,  perhaps  about  forty-eight  or  fifty,  with 
a  smooth-shaven  face  wrinkled  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth 
and  eyes.  His  voice  was  the  most  curious  thing  about  him ; 
it  was  high  and  piping,  more  like  a  woman's  than  a  man's. 
Yet  his  words  and  manner  were  masculine  enough,  and  he 
moved  and  spoke  with  a  nervous,  jerky  quickness. 

He  answered  the  question  promptly.  "  Guess  I  be,  guess 
I  be,"  he  said  briskly.  "  Anyhow,  I'm  lookin'  for  a  boy 
name  of  —  name  of  —  My  soul  to  heavens,  I've  forgot  it 
again,  I  do  believe !  What  did  you  say  your  name  was  ?  " 

*'  Speranza.     Albert  Speranza." 

'*  Sartin,  sartin  !  Sper  —  er  —  um  —  yes,  yes.  Knew  it 
just  as  well  as  I  did  my  own.  Well,  well,  well!  Ye-es, 
yes,  yes.  Get  right  aboard,  Alfred.  Let  me  take  your 
satchel." 


THE  PORTYGEE 


He  picked  up  the  suitcase.  The  boy,  his  foot  upon  the 
buggy  step,  still  hesitated.  "  Then  you're  —  you're  not  my 
grandfather  ?  "  he  faltered. 

"Eh?  Who?  Your  grandfather?  Me?  He,  he,  he! :) 
He  chuckled  shrilly.  "  No,  no !  No  such  luck.  If  I  was 
Cap'n  Lote  Snow,  I'd  be  some  older'n  I  be  now  and  a  dum 
sight  richer.  Yes,  yes.  No,  I'm  Cap'n  Lota's  bookkeeper 
over  at  the  lumber  consarn.  He's  got  a  cold,  and  Olive  — 
that's  his  wife  —  she  said  he  shouldn't  come  out  to-night. 
He  said  he  should,  and  while  they  was  Katy-didin'  back  and 
forth  about  it,  Rachel  —  Mrs.  Ellis  —  she's  the  hired  house 
keeper  there  —  she  telephoned  me  to  harness  up  and  come 
meet  you  up  here  to  the  depot.  Fr  —  er  —  little  mite  late, 
wan'tl?" 

"  Why,  yes,  just  a  little.  The  other  man,  the  one  who 
drives  the  mail  cart  —  I  think  that  was  what  it  was  —  said 
perhaps  the  horse  was  sick,  or  something  like  that." 

"  No-o,  no,  that  wan't  it  this  time.  I  —  er  —  All  tucked 
in  and  warm  enough,  be  you?  Ye-es,  yes,  yes.  No,  I'm 
to  blame,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  I  stopped  at  the  —  at  the 
store  a  minute  and  met  one  or  two  of  the  fellers,  and  that 
kind  of  held  me  up.  All  right  now?  Ye-es,  yes,  yes. 
G'long,gal." 

The  buggy  moved  away  from  the  platform.  Its  passen 
ger,  his  chilly  feet  and  legs  tightly  wrapped  in  the  robes, 
drew  a  breath  of  relief  between  his  chattering  teeth.  He 
was  actually  going  somewhere  at  last;  whatever  happened, 
morning  would  not  find  him  propped  frozen  stiff  against  the 
scarred  and  mangy  clapboards  of  the  South  Harniss  station. 

"  Warm  enough,  be  you  ?  "  inquired  his  driver  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

"  That's  good,  that's  good,  that's  good.  Ye-es,  yes,  yes. 
Well  —  er  —  Frederick,  how  do  you  think  you're  goin'  to 
like  South  Harniss?" 

The  answer  was  rather  non-committal.  The  boy  replied 
that  he  had  not  seen  very  much  of  it  as  yet.  His  compan 
ion  seemed  to  find  the  statement  highly  amusing.  He 
chuckled  and  slapped  his  knee. 


8  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Ain't  seen  much  of  it,  eh?  No-o,  no,  no.  I  guess  you 
ain't,  guess  you  ain't.  He,  he,  he  ...  Um  .  .  .  Let's 
see,  what  was  I  talkin'  about  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing  in  particular,  I  think,  Mr.  —  Mr.  — " 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  my  name  ?  Sho,  sho !  That's  funny. 
My  name's  Keeler  —  Laban  B.  Keeler.  That's  my  name 
and  bookkeepe-  is  my  station.  South  Harniss  is  my  dwell- 
in'  place  —  and  I  guess  likely  you'll  have  to  see  the  minister 
about  the  rest  of  it.  He,  he,  he !  " 

His  passenger,  to  whom  the  old  schoolbook  quatrain  was 
entirely  unknown,  wondered  what  on  earth  the  man  was 
talking  about.  However,  he  smiled  politely  and  sniffed  with 
a  dawning  suspicion.  It  seemed  to  him  there  was  an  un 
usual  scent  in  the  air,  a  spirituous  scent,  a  — 

"  Have  a  peppermint  lozenger,"  suggested  Mr.  Keeler, 
with  sudden  enthusiasm.  "  Peppermint  is  good  for  what 
ails  you,  so  they  tell  me.  Ye-es,  yes,  yes.  Have  one.  Have 
two,  have  a  lot." 

He  proceeded  to  have  a  lot  himself,  and  the  buggy  was 
straightway  reflavored,  so  to  speak.  The  boy,  his  suspicions 
by  no  means  dispelled,  leaned  back  in  the  corner  behind  the 
curtains  and  awaited  developments.  He  was  warmer,  that 
was  a  real  physical  and  consequently  a  slight  mental  com 
fort,  but  the  feeling  of  lonesomeness  was  still  acute.  So 
far  his  acquaintanceship  with  the  citizens  of  South  Harniss 
had  not  filled  him  with  enthusiasm.  They  were  what  he, 
in  his  former  and  very  recent  state  of  existence,  would  have 
called  "  Rubes."  Were  the  grandparents  whom  he  had 
never  met  this  sort  of  people?  It  seemed  probable.  What 
sort  of  a  place  was  this  to  which  Fate  had  consigned  him? 
The  sense  of  utter  helplessness  which  had  had  him  in  its 
clutches  since  the  day  when  he  received  the  news  of  his 
father's  death  was  as  dreadfully  real  as  ever.  He  had  not 
been  consulted  at  all.  No  one  had  asked  him  what  he 
wished  to  do,  or  where  he  wished  to  go.  The  letter  had 
come  from  these  people,  the  Cape  Cod  grandparents  of 
whom,  up  to  that  time,  he  had  never  even  heard,  and  he  had 
been  shipped  to  them  as  though  he  were  a  piece  of  merchan- 


THE  PORTYGEE 


disc.  And  what  was  to  become  of  him  now,  after  he  reached 
his  destination?  What  would  they  expect  him  to  do?  Or 
be?  How  would  he  be  treated? 

In  his  extensive  reading  —  he  had  been  an  omnivorous 
reader  —  there  were  numerous  examples  of  youths  left,  like 
him,  to  the  care  of  distant  relatives,  or  step-parents,  or  utter 
strangers.  Their  experiences,  generally  speaking,  had  not 
been  cheerful  ones.  Most  of  them  had  run  away.  He  might 
run  away ;  but  somehow  the  idea  of  running  away,  with  no 
money,  to  face  hardship  and  poverty  and  all  the  rest,  did 
not  make  an  alluring  appeal.  He  had  been  used  to  comfort 
and  luxury  ever  since  he  could  remember,  and  his  imagina 
tion,  an  unusually  active  one,  visualized  much  more  keenly 
than  the  average  the  tribulations  and  struggles  of  a  runaway. 
David  Copperfield,  he  remembered,  had  run  away,  but  he  did 
it  when  a  kid,  not  a  man  like  himself.  Nicholas  Nickleby 
—  no,  Nicholas  had  not  run  away  exactly,  but  his  father 
had  died  and  he  had  been  left  to  an  uncle.  It  would  be 
dreadful  if  his  grandfather  should  turn  out  to  be  a  man 
like  Ralph  Nickleby.  Yet  Nicholas  had  gotten  on  well  in 
spite  of  his  wicked  relative.  Yes,  and  how  gloriously  he 
had  defied  the  old  rascal,  too!  He  wondered  if  he  would 
ever  be  called  upon  to  defy  his  grandfather.  He  saw  him 
self  doing  it  —  quietly,  a  perfect  gentleman  always,  but  with 
the  noble  determination  of  one  performing  a  disagreeable 
duty.  His  chin  lifted  and  his  shoulders  squared  against  the 
back  of  the  buggy. 

Mr.  Keeler,  who  had  apparently  forgotten  his  passenger 
altogether,  broke  into  song, 

"  She's  my  darlin'  hanky-panky 

And  she  wears  a  number  two, 
Her  father  keeps  a  barber  shop 

Way  out  in  Kalamazoo." 

He  sang  the  foregoing  twice  over  and  then  added  a  chorus, 
plainly  improvised,  made  up  of  "  Di  doos  "  and  "  Di  dums  " 
ad  lib.  And  the  buggy  rolled  up  and  over  the  slope  of  a 
little  hill  and,  in  the  face  of  a  screaming  sea  wind,  descended 


io  THE  PORTYGEE 

a  long,  gentle  slope  to  where,  scattered  along  a  two-mile 
water  frontage,  the  lights  of  South  Harniss  twinkled 
sparsely. 

"  Did  doo  dum,  dee  dum,  doo  dum 
Di  doo  dum,  doo  dum  dee." 

So  sang  Mr.  Keeler.  Then  he  broke  off  his  ->olo  as  the  lit 
tle  mare  turned  in  between  a  pair  of  high  wooden  posts  bor 
dering  a  drive,  jogged  along  that  drive  for  perhaps  fifty 
feet,  and  stopped  beside  the  stone  step  o$(a  white  front  door. 
Through  the  arched  window  above  tha-*;  door  shone  lamp 
light  warm  and  yellow. 

"  Whoa !  "  commanded  Mr.  Keeler,  most  unnecessarily. 
Then,  as  if  himself  a  bit  uncertain  as  to  his  exact  where 
abouts,  he  peered  out  at  the  door  and  the  house  of  which  it 
was  a  part,  afterward  settling  back  to  announce  triumph 
antly  :  "  And  here  we  be !  Yes,  sir,  here  we  be !  " 

Then  the  door  opened.  A  flood  of  lamplight  poured 
upon  the  buggy  and  its  occupants.  And  the  boy  saw  two 
people  standing  in  the  doorway,  a  man  and  a  woman. 

It  was  the  woman  who  spoke  first.  It  was  she  who  had 
opened  the  door.  The  man  was  standing  behind  her  look 
ing  over  her  shoulder  —  over  her  head  really,  for  he  was 
tall  and  broad  and  she  short  and  slender. 

-Is  it—  ?"  she  faltered. 

Mr.  Keeler  answered.  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  he  declared  em 
phatically,  "that's  who  'tis.  Here  we  be  —  er  —  er  — 
what's-your-name  —  Edward.  Jump  right  out." 

His  passenger  alighted  from  the  buggy.  The  woman  bent 
forward  to  look  at  him,  her  hands  clasped. 

«  It  —  it's  Albert,  isn't  it?  "  she  asked. 

The  boy  nodded.     "  Yes,"  he  said. 

The  hands  unclasped  and  she  held  them  out  toward  him. 
"  Oh,  Albert,"  she  cried,  "  I'm  your  grandmother.  I  — " 

The  man  interrupted.  "  Wait  till  we  get  him  inside, 
Olive,"  he  said.  "  Come  in,  son."  Then,  addressing  the 
driver,  he  ordered :  "  Labe,  take  the  horse  and  team  out  to 
the  barn  and  unharness  for  me,  will  you  ?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  n 

"  Ye-es,  yes,  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Keeler.  "  Yes  indeed, 
Cap'n.  Take  her  right  along  —  right  off.  Yes  indeedy. 
Git  dap !  " 

He  drove  off  toward  the  end  of  the  yard,  where  a  large 
building,  presumably  a  barn,  loomed  black  against  the  dark 
sky.  He  sang  as  he  drove  and  the  big  man  on  the  step 
looked  after  him  and  sniffed  suspiciously. 

Meanwhile  the  boy  had  followed  the  little  woman  into 
the  house  through  a  small  front  hall,  from  which  a  narrow 
flight  of  stairs  she  •  aloft  with  almost  unbelievable  steepness, 
and  into  a  large  loom.  Albert  had  a  swift  impression  of 
big  windows  full  of  plants,  of  pictures  of  ships  and  schoon 
ers  on  the  walls,  of  a  table  set  for  four. 

14  Take  your  things  right  off,"  cried  his  grandmother. 
"  Here,  I'll  take  'em.  There !  now  turn  'round  and  let  me 
look  at  you.  Don't  move  till  I  get  a  good  look." 

He  stood  perfectly  still  while  she  inspected  him  from 
head  to  foot. 

'*  You've  got  her  mouth,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Yes,  you've 
got  her  mouth.  Her  hair  and  eyes  were  brown  and  yours 
are  black,  but  —  but  I  think  you  look  like  her.  Oh,  I  did 
so  want  you  to !  May  I  kiss  you,  Albert  ?  I'm  your  grand 
mother,  you  know." 

With  embarrassed  shyness  he  leaned  forward  while  she 
put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek. 
As  he  straightened  again  he  became  a^vare  that  the  big  man 
had  entered  the  room  and  was  regarding  him  intently  be 
neath  a  pair  of  shaggy  gray  eyebrows.  Mrs.  Snow  turned. 

"  Oh,  Zelotes,"  she  cried,  "  he's  got  Janie's  mouth,  don't 
you  think  so  ?  And  he  does  look  like  her,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

Her  husband  shook  his  head.  "  Maybe  so,  Mother,"  he 
said,  with  a  half  smile.  '*  I  ain't  a  great  hand  for  locatin' 
who  folks  look  like.  How  are  you,  boy?  Glad  to  see  you. 
I'm  your  grandfather,  you  know." 

They  shook  hands,  while  each  inspected  and  made  a  men 
tal  estimate  of  the  other.  Albert  saw  a  square,  bearded 
jaw,  a  firm  mouth,  gray  eyes  with  many  wrinkles  at  the  cor 
ners,  and  a  shock  of  thick  gray  hair.  The  eyes  had  a  way 


12  THE  PORTYGEE 

of  looking  straight  at  you,  through  you,  as  if  reading  your 
thoughts,  divining  your  motives  and  making  a  general  ap 
praisal  of  you  and  them. 

Captain  Zelotes  Snow,  for  his  part,  saw  a  tall  young  fel 
low,  slim  and  straight,  with  black  curly  hair,  large  black 
eyes  and  regular  features.  A  good-looking  boy,  a  hand 
some  boy  —  almost  too  handsome,  perhaps,  or  with  just  a 
touch  of  the  effeminate  in  the  good  looks.  The  captain's 
glance  took  in  the  well-fitting  suit  of  clothes,  the  expensive 
tie,  the  gold  watch  chain. 

"  Humph ! "  grunted  Captain  Zelotes.  *'  Well,  your 
grandma  and  I  are  glad  to  have  you  with  us.  Let  me  see, 
Albert  —  that's  your  right  name,  ain't  it  —  Albert  ?  " 

Something  in  his  grandfather's  looks  or  tone  aroused  a 
curious  feeling  in  the  youth.  It  was  not  a  feeling  of  antag 
onism,  exactly,  but  more  of  defiance,  of  obstinacy.  He  felt 
as  if  this  big  man,  regarding  him  so  keenly  from  under  the 
heavy  brows,  was  looking  for  faults,  was  expecting  to  find 
something  wrong,  might  almost  be  disappointed  if  he  did 
not  find  it.  He  met  the  gaze  for  a  moment,  the  color  rising 
to  his  cheeks. 

"  My  name,"  he  said  deliberately,  "  is  Alberto  Miguel 
Carlos  Speranza." 

Mrs.  Snow  uttered  a  little  exclamation.  "  Oh ! "  she 
ejaculated.  And  then  added:  "Why  —  why,  I  thought  — 
we  —  we  understood  'twas  *  Albert.'  We  didn't  know  there 
was  —  we  didn't  know  there  was  any  more  to  it.  What  did 
you  say  it  was  ?  " 

Her  grandson  squared  his  shoulders.  *'  Alberto  Miguel 
Carlos  Speranza,"  he  repeated.  "  My  father  "  —  there  was 
pride  in  his  voice  now  —  '*  my  father's  name  was  Miguel 
Carlos.  Of  course  you  knew  that." 

He  spoke  as  if  all  creation  must  ha\  *  known  it.  Mrs. 
Snow  looked  helplessly  at  her  husband.  Captain  Zelotes 
rubbed  his  chin. 

"We— 11,"  he  drawled  dryly,  "I  guess  likely  we'll  get 
along  with  '  Albert '  for  a  spell.  I  cal'late  'twill  come  more 
handy  to  us  Cape  folks.  We're  kind  of  plain  and  everyday 


THE  PORTYGEE  13 


'round  here.  Supper's  ready,  ain't  it,  Mother?  Al  must 
be  hungry.  I'm  plaguey  sure  /  am." 

"  But,  Zelotes,  maybe  he'd  like  to  go  up  to  his  bedroom 
first.  He's  been  ridin'  a  long  ways  in  the  cars  and  maybe 
he'd  like  to  wash  up  or  change  his  clothes  ?  " 

"  Change  his  clothes !  Lord  sakes,  Olive,  what  would  he 
want  to  change  his  clothes  this  time  of  night  for?  You 
don't  want  to  change  your  clothes,  do  you,  boy  ?  " 

'*  No,  sir,  I  guess  not." 

"  Sartin  sure  you  don't.  Want  to  wash  ?  There's  a  ba 
sin  and  soap  and  towel  right  out  there  in  the  kitchen." 

He  pointed  to  the  kitchen  door.  At  that  moment  the  door 
was  partially  opened  and  a  brisk  feminine  voice  from  behind 
it  inquired :  *'  How  about  eatin'  ?  Are  you  all  ready  in 
there?" 

It  was  Captain  Snow  who  answered. 

"  You  bet  we  are,  Rachel !  "  he  declared.  '*  All  ready 
and  then  some.  Trot  her  out.  Sit  down,  Mother.  Sit 
down,  Al.  Now  then,  Rachel,  all  aboard." 

Rachel,  it  appeared,  was  the  owner  of  the  brisk  feminine 
voice  just  mentioned.  She  was  brisk  herself,  as  to  age 
about  forty,  plump,  rosy  and  very  business-like.  She 
whisked  the  platter  of  fried  mackerel  and  the  dishes  of 
baked  potatoes,  stewed  corn,  hot  biscuits  and  all  the  rest, 
to  the  table  is  no  time,  and  then,  to  Albert's  astonish 
ment,  sat  down  at  that  table  herself.  Mrs.  Snow  did  the 
honors. 

"  Albert,"  she  said,  "  this  is  Mrs.  Ellis,  who  helps  me 
keep  house.  Rachel,  this  is  my  grandson,  Albert  —  er  — 
Speranza." 

She  pronounced  the  surname  in  a  tone  almost  apologetic. 
Mrs.  Ellis  did  not  attempt  to  pronounce  it.  She  extended  a 
plump  hand  and  observed :  "  Is  that  so  ?  Real  glad  to  know 
you,  Albert.  How  do  you  think  you're  goin'  to  like  South 
Harniss?" 

Considering  that  his  acquaintance  with  the  village  had 
been  so  decidedly  limited,  Albert  was  somewhat  puzzled  how 
to  reply.  His  grandfather  saved  him  the  trouble. 


14  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Lord  sakes,  Rachel,"  he  declared,  "  he  ain't  seen  more'n 
three  square  foot  of  it  yet.  It's  darker'n  the  inside  of  a 
nigger's  undershirt  outdoors  to-night.  Well,  Al  —  Albert, 
I  mean,  how  are  you  on  mackerel?  Pretty  good  stowage 
room  below  decks  ?  About  so  much,  eh  ?  " 

Mrs.  Snow  interrupted. 

*'  Zelotes,"  she  said  reprovingly,  "  ain't  you  f  orgettin' 
somethin'?" 

"  Eh  ?  Forgettin'  ?  Heavens  to  Betsy,  so  I  am !  Lord, 
we  thank  thee  for  these  and  all  other  gifts,  Amen.  What 
did  I  do  with  the  fork ;  swallow  it  ?  " 

As  long  as  he  lives  Albert  Speranza  will  not  forget  that 
first  meal  in  the  home  of  his  grandparents.  It  was  so 
strange,  so  different  from  any  other  meal  he  had  ever  eaten. 
The  food  was  good  and  there  was  an  abundance  of  it,  but 
the  surroundings  were  so  queer.  Instead  of  the  well-or 
dered  and  sedate  school  meal,  here  all  the  eatables  from 
fish  to  pie  were  put  upon  the  table  at  the  same  time  and  the 
servant  —  or  housekeeper,  which  to  his  mind  were  one  and 
the  same  —  sat  down,  not  only  to  eat  with  the  family,  but 
to  take  at  least  an  equal  part  in  the  conversation.  And  the 
conversation  itself  was  so  different.  Beginning  with  ques 
tions  concerning  his  own  journey  from  the  New  York  town 
where  the  school  was  located,  it  at  length  reached  South 
Harniss  and  there  centered  about  the  diminutive  person  of 
Laban  Keeler,  his  loquacious  and  tuneful  rescuer  from  the 
platform  of  the  railway  station. 

"Where  are  your  things,  Albert?"  asked  Mrs.  Snow. 
"  Your  trunk  or  travelin'  bag,  or  whatever  you  had,  I 
mean?" 

"  My  trunks  are  coming  by  express,"  began  the  boy. 
Captain  Zelotes  interrupted  him. 

*'  Your  trunks  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Got  more'n  one,  have 
you?" 

"  Why  —  why,  yes,  there  are  three.  Mr.  Holden  —  he 
is  the  headmaster,  you  know  — " 

"  Eh  ?  Headmaster  ?  Oh,  you  mean  the  boss  teacher  up 
there  at  the  school?  Yes,  yes.  Um-hm/' 


THE  PORTYGEE  15 

"  Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Holden  says  the  trunks  should  get  here 
in  a  few  days." 

Mrs.  Ellis,  the  housekeeper,  made  the  next  remark.  "  Did 
I  understand  you  to  say  you  had  three  trunks  ?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  Why,  yes." 

"  Three  trunks  for  one  boy !  For  mercy  sakes,  what  have 
you  got  in  'em  ?  " 

"  Why  —  why,  my  things.  My  clothes  and  —  and  — 
everything." 

"  Everything,  or  just  about,  I  should  say.  Goodness 
gracious  me,  when  I  go  up  to  Boston  I  have  all  I  can  do  to 
fill  up  one  trunk.  And  I'm  bigger'n  you  are  —  bigger 
'round,  anyway." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  Captain  Zelotes  laughed 
shortly. 

"  That  statement  ain't  what  I'd  call  exaggerated,  Rachel," 
he  declared.  **  Every  time  I  see  you  and  Laban  out  walkin' 
together  he  has  to  keep  on  the  sunny  side  or  be  in  a  total 
eclipse.  And,  by  the  way,  speakin'  of  Laban —  Say, 
son,  how  did  you  and  he  get  along  comin'  down  from  the 
depot?" 

"All  right.     It  was  pretty  dark."- 

"  I'll  bet  you!     Laban  wasn't  very  talkative,  was  he?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,  he  talked  a  good  deal  but  he  sang  most  of 
the  time." 

This  simple  statement  appeared  to  cause  a  most  surpris 
ing  sensation.  The  Snows  and  their  housekeeper  looked 
at  each  other.  Captain  Zelotes  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
whistled. 

"Whew!"  he  observed.  "Hum!  Sho!  Thundera- 
tion !  " 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  exclaimed  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Ellis,  the  housekeeper,  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I 
might  have  expected  it,"  she  said  tartly.  "  It's  past  time. 
He's  pretty  nigh  a  month  overdue,  as  'tis." 

Captain  Snow  rose  to  his  feet.  "  I  was  kind  of  suspi 
cious  when  he  started  for  the  barn,"  he  declared.  "  Seemed 


1 6  THE  PORTYGEE 

to  me  he  was  singin'  then.  What  did  he  sing,  boy  ?  "  he 
asked,  turning  suddenly  upon  his  grandson. 

"  Why  —  why,  I  don't  know.  I  didn't  notice  particu 
larly.  You  see,  it  was  pretty  cold  and — " 

Mrs.  Ellis  interrupted.  "  Did  he  sing  anything  about 
somebody's  bein'  his  darlin'  hanky-panky  and  wearin'  a 
number  two  ?  "  she  demanded  sharply. 

"  Why  —  why,  yes,  he  did." 

Apparently  that  settled  it.  Mrs.  Snow  said,  "  Oh,  dear !  " 
again  and  the  housekeeper  also  rose  from  the  table. 

"  You'd  better  go  right  out  to  the  barn  this  minute,  Cap'n 
Lote,"  she  said,  "  and  I  guess  likely  I'd  better  go  with  you." 

The  captain  already  had  his  cap  on  his  head. 

"  No,  Rachel,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  need  you.  Cal'late  I 
can  take  care  of  'most  anything  that's  liable  to  have  hap 
pened.  If  he  ain't  put  the  bridle  to  bed  in  the  stall  and 
hung  the  mare  up  on  the  harness  pegs  I  judge  I  can  handle 
the  job.  Wonder  how  fur  along  he'd  got.  Didn't  hear  him 
singin'  anything  about  '  Hyannis  on  the  Cape,'  did  you, 
boy?" 

"  No." 

"  That's  some  comfort.  Now,  don't  you  worry,  Mother. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

Mrs.  Snow  clasped  her  hands.  "  Oh,  I  hope  he  hasn't 
set  the  barn  afire,"  she  wailed. 

*'  No  danger  of  that,  I  guess.  No,  Rachel,  you  'tend  to 
your  supper.  I  don't  need  you." 

He  tramped  out  into  the  hall  and  the  door  closed  behind 
him.  Mrs.  Snow  turned  apologetically  to  her  puzzled 
grandson,  who  was  entirely  at  a  loss  to  know  what  the 
trouble  was  about. 

'*  You  see,  Albert,"  she  hesitatingly  explained,  "  Laban  — • 
Mr.  Keeler  —  the  man  who  drove  you  down  from  the  depot 
—  he  —  he's  an  awful  nice  man  and  your  grandfather  thinks 
the  world  and  all  of  him,  but  —  but  every  once  in  a  while 
he —  Oh,  dear,  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it  to  you,  but — " 

Evidently  Mrs.  Ellis  knew  how  to  say  it,  for  she  broke 
into  the  conversation  and  said  it  then  and  there. 


THE  PORTYGEE  17 

*'  Every  once  in  a  while  he  gets  tipsy,"  she  snapped. 
"  And  I  only  wish  I  had  my  fingers  this  minute  in  the  hair 
of  the  scamp  that  gave  him  the  liquor." 

A  light  broke  upon  Albert's  mind.  "Oh!  Oh,  yes!" 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  thought  he  acted  a  little  queer,  and  once 
I  thought  I  smelt —  Oh,  that  was  why  he  was  eating  the 
peppermints ! " 

Mrs.  Snow  nodded.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 
Suddenly  the  housekeeper,  who  had  resumed  her  seat  in 
compliance  with  Captain  Zelotes'  order,  slammed  back  her 
chair  and  stood  up. 

"  I've  hated  the  smell  of  peppermint  for  twenty-two  year," 
she  declared,  and  went  out  into  the  kitchen.  Albert,  look 
ing  after  her,  felt  his  grandmother's  touch  upon  his  sleeve. 

*'  I  wouldn't  say  any  more  about  it  before  her,"  she  whis 
pered.  '*  She's  awful  sensitive." 

Why  in  the  world  the  housekeeper  should  be  particularly 
sensitive  because  the  man  who  had  driven  him  from  the 
station  ate  peppermint  was  quite  beyond  the  boy's  compre 
hension.  Nor  could  he  thoroughly  understand  why  the  sus 
picion  of  Mr.  Keeler's  slight  inebriety  should  cause  such  a 
sensation  in  the  Snow  household.  He  was  inclined  to  think 
the  tipsiness  rather  funny.  Of  course  alcohol  was  lectured 
against  often  enough  at  school  and  on  one  occasion  a  mem 
ber  of  the  senior  class  —  a  twenty-year-old  "  hold-over  " 
who  should  have  graduated  the  fall  before  —  had  been  ex 
pelled  for  having  beer  in  his  room;  but  during  his  long 
summer  vacations,  spent  precariously  at  hotels  or  in  short 
visits  to  his  father's  friends,  young  Speranza  had  learned  to 
be  tolerant.  Tolerance  was  a  necessary  virtue  in  the  circle 
surrounding  Speranza  Senior,  in  his  later  years.  The  pop 
ping  of  corks  at  all  hours  of  the  night  and  bottles  full,  half 
full  or  empty,  were  sounds  and  sights  to  which  Albert  had 
been  well  accustomed.  When  one  has  more  than  once  seen 
his  own  father  overcome  by  conviviality  and  the  affair 
treated  as  a  huge  joke,  one  is  not  inclined  to  be  too  censorious 
when  others  slip.  What  if  the  queer  old  Keeler  guy  was 
tight  ?  Was  that  anything  to  raise  such  a  row  about  ? 


i8  THE  PORTYGEE 

Plainly,  he  decided,  this  was  a  strange  place,  this  house 
hold  of  his  grandparents.  His  premonition  that  they  might 
be  *'  Rubes "  seemed  likely  to  have  been  well  founded. 
What  would  his  father  —  his  great,  world-famous  father  — 
have  thought  of  them?  "  Bah!  these  Yankee  bourgeoisie!" 
He  could  almost  hear  him  say  it.  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza 
detested  —  in  private  —  the  Yankee  bourgeoisie.  He  took 
their  money  and  he  married  one  of  their  daughters,  but  he 
detested  them.  During  his  last  years,  when  the  money  had 
not  flowed  his  way  as  copiously,  the  detest  grew. 

'*  You  won't  say  anything  about  Laban  before  Mrs.  Ellis, 
will  you,  Albert?"  persisted  Mrs.  Snow.  "She's  dreadful 
sensitive.  I'll  explain  by  and  by." 

He  promised,  repressing  a  condescending  smile. 

Both  the  housekeeper5  and  Captain  Snow  returned  in  a 
few  minutes.  The  latter  reported  that  the  mare  was  safe 
and  sound  in  her  stall. 

4<  The  harness  was  mostly  on  the  floor,  but  Jess  was  all 
right,  thank  the  Lord,"  observed  the  captain. 

"  Jess  is  our  horse's  name,  Albert,"  explained  Mrs.  Snow. 
"  That  is,  her  name's  Jessamine,  but  Zelotes  can't  ever  seem 
to  say  the  whole  of  any  name.  When  we  first  bought  Jessa 
mine  I  named  her  Magnolia,  but  he  called  her  '  Mag '  all 
the  time  and  I  couldn't  stand  that.  Have  some  more  pre 
serves,  Albert,  do." 

Ail  through  the  meal  Albert  was  uneasily  conscious  that 
his  grandfather  was  looking  at  him  from  under  the  shaggy 
brows,  measuring  him,  estimating  him,  reading  him  through 
and  through.  He  resented  the  scrutiny  and  the  twinkle  of 
sardonic  humor  which,  it  seemed  to  him,  accompanied  it. 
His  way  of  handling  his  knife  and  fork,  his  clothes,  his  tie, 
his  manner  of  eating  and  drinking  and  speaking,  all  these 
Captain  Zelotes  seemed  to  note  and  appraise.  But  whatever 
the  results  of  his  scrutiny  and  appraisal  might  be  he  kept 
them  entirely  to  himself.  When  he  addressed  his  grand 
son  directly,  which  was  not  often,  his  remarks  were  trivial 
commonplaces  and,  although  pleasant  enough,  were  terse 
and  to  the  point. 


THE  PORTYGEE  19 

Several  times  Mrs.  Snow  would  have  questioned  Albert 
concerning  the  life  at  school,  but  each  time  her  husband 
interfered. 

"  Not  now,  not  now,  Mother,"  he  said.  "  The  boy  ain't 
goin'  to  run  away  to-night.  He'll  be  here  to-morrow  and 
a  good  many  to-morrows,  if " —  and  here  again  Albert 
seemed  to  detect  the  slight  sarcasm  and  the  twinkle  —  "  if 
we  old-fashioned  '  down  casters '  ain't  too  common  and 
every-day  for  a  high-toned  young  chap  like  him  to  put  up 
with.  No,  no,  don't  make  him  talk  to-night.  Can't  you  see 
he's  so  sleepy  that  it's  only  the  exercise  of  openin'  his  mouth 
to  eat  that  keeps  his  eyes  from  shuttin'?  How  about  that, 
son?" 

It  was  perfectly  true.  The  long  train  ride,  the  excitement, 
the  cold  wait  on  the  station  platform  and  the  subsequent 
warmth  of  the  room,  the  hearty  meal,  all  these  combined  to 
make  for  sleepiness  so  overpowering  that  several  times  the 
boy  had  caught  his  nose  descending  toward  his  plate  in  a 
most  inelegant  nod.  But  it  hurt  his  pride  to  think  his 
grandfather  had  noticed  his  condition. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  with  dignity. 

Somehow  the  dignity  seemed  to  have  little  effect  upon 
Captain  Zelotes. 

<4  Urn  —  yes,  I  know,"  observed  the  latter  dryly,  "  but  I 
guess  likely  you'll  be  more  all  right  in  bed.  Mother,  you'll 
show  Albert  where  to  turn  in,  won't  you?  There's  your 
suitcase  out  there  in  the  hall,  son.  I  fetched  it  in  from  the 
barn  just  now." 

Mrs.  Snow  ventured  a  protest. 

"  Oh,  Zelotes,"  she  cried,  "  ain't  we  goin'  to  talk  with  him 
at  all?  Why,  there  is  so  much  to  say !  " 

''Twill  say  just  as  well  to-morrow  mornin',  Mother; 
better,  because  we'll  have  all  day  to  say  it  in.  Get  the 
lamp." 

Albert  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Why,  it's  only  half-past  nine,"  he  said. 

Captain  Zelotes,  who  also  had  been  looking  at  the  watch, 
which  was  a  very  fine  and  very  expensive  one,  smiled 


20  THE  PORTYGEE 

slightly.  "  Half-past  nine  some  nights,"  he  said,  "  is  equal 
to  half-past  twelve  others.  This  is  one  of  the  some.  There, 
there,  son,  you're  so  sleepy  this  minute  that  you've  got  a 
list  to  starboard.  When  you  and  I  have  that  talk  that's 
comin'  to  us  we  want  to  be  shipshape  and  on  an  even  keel. 
Rachel,  light  that  lamp." 

The  housekeeper  brought  in  and  lighted  a  small  hand 
lamp.  Mrs.  Snow  took  it  and  led  the  way  to  the  hall  and 
the  narrow,  breakneck  flight  of  stairs.  Captain  Zelotes  laid 
a  hand  on  his  grandson's  shoulder. 

"  Good-night,  son,"  he  said  quietly. 

Albert  looked  into  the  gray  eyes.  Their  expression  was 
not  unkindly,  but  there  was,  or  he  imagined  there  was,  the 
same  quizzical,  sardonic  twinkle.  He  resented  that  twinkle 
more  than  ever;  it  made  him  feel  very  young  indeed,  and 
correspondingly  obstinate.  Something  of  that  obstinacy 
showed  in  his  own  eyes  as  he  returned  his  grandfather's 
look. 

"Good-night  —  sir,"  he  said,  and  for  the  life  of  him  he 
could  not  resist  hesitating  before  adding  the  "  sir."  As  he 
climbed  the  steep  stairs  he  fancied  he  heard  a  short  sniff  or 
chuckle  —  he  was  not  certain  which  —  from  the  big  man 
in  the  dining-room. 

His  bedroom  was  a  good-sized  room ;  that  is,  it  would 
have  been  of  good  size  if  the  person  who  designed  it  had 
known  what  the  term  "  square  "  meant.  Apparently  he  did 
not,  and  had  built  the  apartment  on  the  hit-or-miss,  higgle- 
ty-pigglety  pattern,  with  unexpected  alcoves  cut  into  the 
walls  and  closets  and  chimneys  built  out  from  them.  There 
were  three  windows,  a  big  bed,  an  old-fashioned  bureau,  a 
chest  of  drawers,  a  washstand,  and  several  old-fashioned 
chairs.  Mrs.  Snow  put  the  lamp  upon  the  bureau.  She 
watched  him  anxiously  as  he  looked  about  the  room. 

'*  Do  —  do  you  like  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

Albert  replied  that  he  guessed  he  did.  Perhaps  there  was 
not  too  much  certainty  in  his  tone.  He  had  never  before 
seen  a  room  like  it. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  will  like  it !     It  was  your  mother's  room, 


THE  PORTYGEE  21 

Albert.  She  slept  here  from  the  time  she  was  seven  until 
—  until  she  went  away.'* 

The  boy  looked  about  him  with  a  new  interest,  an  odd 
thrill.  His  mother's  room.  His  mother.  He  could  just 
remember  her,  but  that  was  all.  The  memories  were  child 
ish  and  unsatisfactory,  but  they  were  memories.  And  she 
had  slept  there ;  this  had  been  her  room  when  she  was  a  girl, 
before  she  married,  before  —  long  before  such  a  person  as 
Alberto  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza  had  been  even  dreamed  of. 
That  was  strange,  it  was  queer  to  think  about.  Long  be 
fore  he  was  born,  when  she  was  years  younger  than  he  as 
he  stood  there  now,  she  had  stood  there,  had  looked  from 
those  windows,  had  — 

His  grandmother  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  him.  Her  cheek  was  wet. 

"  Good-night,  Albert,"  she  said  chokingly,  and  hurried 
out  of  the  room. 

He  undressed  quickly,  for  the  room  was  very  cold.  He 
opened  the  window,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  and  climbed 
into  bed.  The  wind,  whistling  in,  obligingly  blew  out  the 
lamp  for  him.  It  shrieked  and  howled  about  the  eaves  and 
the  old  house  squeaked  and  groaned.  Albert  pulled  the 
comforter  up  about  his  neck  and  concentrated  upon  the  busi 
ness  of  going  to  sleep,  lie,  who  could  scarcely  remember 
when  he  had  had  a  real  home,  was  desperately  homesick. 

Downstairs  in  the  dining-room  Captain  Zelotes  stood,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  through  the  mica  panes  of  the 
stove  door  at  the  fire  within.  His  wife  came  up  behind  him 
and  laid  a  hand  on  his  sleeve. 

"  What  are  you  thinkin'  about,  Father  ?  "  she  asked. 

Her  husband  shook  his  head.  **  I  was  wonderin',"  he 
said,  *'  what  my  granddad,  the  original  Cap'n  Lote  Snow 
that  built  this  house,  would  have  said  if  he'd  known  that 
he'd  have  a  great-great-grandson  come  to  live  in  it  who  was," 
scornfully,  "  a  half-breed." 

Olive's  grip  tightened  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  so,  Zelotes,"  she  begged.  "  He's  our 
Janie's  boy." 


22  THE  PORTYGEE 

The  captain  opened  the  stove  door,  regarded  the  red-hot 
coals  for  an  instant,  and  then  slammed  the  door  shut  again. 

"  I  know,  Mother,"  he  said  grimly.  "  It's  for  the  sake  of 
Janie's  half  that  I'm  takin'  in  the  other." 

"  But  —  but,  Zelotes,  don't  you  think  he  seems  like  a  nice 
boy?" 

The  twinkle  reappeared  in  Captain  Lote's  eyes. 

*'  I  think  he  thinks  he's  a  nice  boy,  Mother,"  he  said. 
*  There,  there,  let's  go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  story  of  the  events  which  led  up  to  the  coming, 
on  this  December  night,  of  a  "  half-breed  "  grand 
son  to  the  Snow  homestead,  was  an  old  story  in 
South  Harniss.     The  date  of  its  beginning  was  as  far  back 
as  the  year  1892. 

In  the  fall  of  that  year  Captain  Zelotes  Snow  was  in 
Savannah.  He  was  in  command  of  the  coasting  schooner 
Olive  S.  and  the  said  schooner  was  then  discharging  a  gen 
eral  cargo,  preparatory  to  loading  with  rice  and  cotton  for 
Philadelphia.  With  the  captain  in  Savannah  was  his  only 
daughter,  Jane  Olivia,  age  a  scant  eighteen,  pretty,  charming, 
romantic  and  head  over  heels  in  love  with  a  handsome  bari 
tone  then  singing  in  a  popular-priced  grand  opera  company. 
It  was  because  of  this  handsome  baritone,  who,  by  the  way, 
was  a  Spaniard  named  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza,  that  Jane 
Snow  was  then  aboard  her  father's  vessel.  Captain  Lote 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  his  women-folks  on  his  voy 
ages  with  him.  "  Skirts  clutter  up  the  deck  too  much,"  was 
his  opinion. 

He  had  taken  Jane,  however,  not  only  on  this  voyage,  but 
on  that  preceding  it,  which  had  been  to  Rio.  It  was  Cap 
tain  Lote's  belief,  and  his  wife's  hope,  that  a  succession  of 
sea  winds  might  blow  away  recollections  of  Senor  Speranza 
—  "  fan  the  garlic  out  of  her  head,"  as  the  captain  inele 
gantly  expressed  it.  Jane  had  spent  her  sixteenth  and  sev 
enteenth  years  at  a  school  for  girls  near  Boston.  The  opera 
company  of  which  Speranza  was  a  member  was  performing 
at  one  of  the  minor  theaters.  A  party  of  the  school  girls, 
duly  chaperoned  and  faculty-guarded,  of  course,  attended  a 
series  of  matinees.  At  these  matinees  Jane  first  saw  her 
hero,  brave  in  doublet  and  hose,  and  braver  still  in  melody 
and  romance.  She  and  her  mates  looked  and  listened  and 

23 


24  THE  PORTYGEE 

worshiped  from  afar,  as  is  the  habit  of  maidenly  youth 
under  such  circumstances.  There  is  no  particular  danger 
in  such  worship  provided  the  worshiper  remains  always  at 
a  safely  remote  distance  from  the  idol.  But  in  Jane's  case 
this  safety-bar  was  removed  by  Fate.  The  wife  of  a  friend 
of  her  father's,  the  friend  being  a  Boston  merchant  named 
Cole  with  whom  Captain  Zelotes  had  had  business  dealings 
for  many  years,  was  a  music  lover.  She  was  in  the  habit 
of  giving  what  she  was  pleased  to  call  "  musical  teas  "  at  her 
home.  Jane,  to  whom  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cole  had  taken  a 
marked  fancy,  was  often  invited  to  those  teas  and,  because 
the  Coles  were  "  among  our  nicest  people,"  she  was  permit 
ted  by  the  school  authorities  to  attend. 

At  one  of  those  teas  Sefior  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza  was 
the  brightest  star.  The  Sefior,  then  in  his  twenty-ninth  year, 
handsome,  talented  and  picturesque,  shone  refulgent.  Other 
and  far  more  experienced  feminine  hearts  than  Jane  Snow's 
were  flutteringly  disturbed  by  the  glory  of  his  rays.  Jane 
and  he  met,  they  shook  hands,  they  conversed.  And  at  sub 
sequent  teas  they  met  again,  for  Speranza,  on  his  part,  was 
strongly  attracted  to  the  simple,  unaffected  Cape  Cod  school 
girl.  It  was  not  her  beauty  alone  —  though  beauty  she  had 
and  of  an  unusual  type  —  it  was  something  else,  a  personality 
which  attracted  all  who  met  her.  The  handsome  Spaniard 
had  had  many  love  affairs  of  a  more  or  less  perfunctory 
kind,  but  here  was  something  different,  something  he  had 
not  known.  He  began  by  exerting  his  powers  of  fascina 
tion  in  a  lazy,  careless  way.  To  his  astonishment  the  said 
powers  were  not  overwhelming.  If  Jane  was  fascinated 
she  was  not  conquered.  She  remained  sweet,  simple,  direct, 
charmingly  aloof. 

And  Speranza  was  at  first  puzzled,  then  piqued,  then 
himself  madly  fascinated.  He  wrote  fervid  letters,  he 
begged  for  interviews,  he  haunted  each  one  of  Mrs.  Cole's 
"  teas."  And,  at  last,  he  wrung  from  Jane  a  confession  of 
her  love,  her  promise  to  marry  him.  And  that  very  week 
Miss  Donaldson,  the  head  of  the  school,  discovered  and 
read  a  package  of  the  Senor's  letters  to  her  pupil. 


THE  PORTYGEE  25 

Captain  Zelotes  happened  to  be  at  home  from  a  voyage. 
Being  summoned  from  South  Harniss,  he  came  to  Boston 
and  heard  the  tale  from  Miss  Donaldson's  agitated  lips. 
Jane  was  his  joy,  his  pride;  her  future  was  the  great  hope 
and  dream  of  his  life.  When  she  married  —  which  was 
not  to  be  thought  of  for  an  indefinite  number  of  years 
to  come  —  she  would  of  course  marry  a  —  well,  not  a  Pres 
ident  of  the  United  States,  perhaps  —  but  an  admiral  pos 
sibly,  or  a  millionaire,  or  the  owner  of  a  fleet  of  steam 
ships,  or  something  like  that.  The  idea  that  she  should  even 
think  of  marrying  a  play-actor  was  unbelievable.  The  cap 
tain  had  never  attended  the  performance  of  an  opera ;  what 
was  more,  he  never  expected  to  attend  one.  He  had  been 
given  to  understand  that  a  "  parcel  of  play-actin'  men  and 
women  hollered  and  screamed  to  music  for  a  couple  of 
hours."  Olive,  his  wife,  had  attended  an  opera  once  and, 
according  to  her,  it  was  more  like  a  cat  fight  than  anything 
else.  Nobody  but  foreigners  ever  had  anything  to  do  with 
operas.  And  for  foreigners  of  all  kinds  —  but  the  Latin 
variety  of  foreigner  in  particular  —  Captain  Zelotes  Snow 
cherished  a  detest  which  was  almost  fanatic. 

And  now  his  daughter,  his  own  Janie,  was  receiv 
ing  ardent  love  letters  from  a  play-acting  foreigner,  a 
Spaniard,  a  "  Portygee,"  a  "  macaroni-eater  " !  When  finally 
convinced  that  it  was  true,  that  the  letters  had  really  been 
written  to  Jane,  which  took  some  time,  he  demanded  first 
of  all  to  be  shown  the  "  Portygee/'  Miss  Donaldson  could 
not,  of  course,  produce  the  latter  forthwith,  but  she  directed 
her  irate  visitor  to  the  theater  where  the  opera  company  was 
then  performing.  To  the  theater  Captain  Zelotes  went.  He 
did  not  find  Speranza  there,  but  from  a  frightened  attend 
ant  he  browbeat  the  information  that  the  singer  was  staying 
at  a  certain  hotel.  So  the  captain  went  to  the  hotel.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Sefior  Speranza  was  in  bed 
and  could  not  be  disturbed.  Couldn't,  eh?  By  the  great 
and  everlasting  et  cetera  and  continued  he  was  going  to  be 
disturbed  then  and  there.  And  unless  some  of  the  hotel's 
"  hired  help  "  set  about  the  disturbing  it  would  be  done  for 


26  THE  PORTYGEE 

them.  So,  rather  than  summon  the  police,  the  hotel  man 
agement  summoned  its  guest,  and  the  first,  and  only,  inter 
view  between  the  father  and  lover  of  Jane  Snow  took 
place. 

It  was  not  a  long  interview,  but  it  was  spirited.  Captain 
Zelotes  began  by  being  what  he  considered  diplomatic. 
Having  assured  his  wife  before  leaving  home,  and  the 
alarmed  Miss  Donaldson  subsequently,  that  there  was  to  be 
no  trouble  whatever  —  everything  would  be  settled  as  smooth 
and  easy  as  slidin'  downhill ;  "  that  feller  won't  make  any 
fuss,  you'll  see  "  —  having  thus  prophesied,  the  captain  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  himself  to  see  to  the  fulfillment.  So  he 
began  by  condescendingly  explaining  that  of  course  he  was 
kind  of  sorry  for  the  young  man  before  him,  young  folks 
were  young  folks  and  of  course  he  presumed  likely  'twas 
natural  enough,  and  the  like  of  that,  you  understand.  But 
of  course  also  Mr.  Speranza  must  realize  that  the  thing 
could  not  go  on  any  further.  Jane  was  his  daughter  and 
her  people  were  nice  people,  and  naturally,  that  being  the 
case,  her  mother  and  he  would  be  pretty  particular  as  to 
who  she  kept  company  with,  to  say  nothing  of  marrying, 
which. event  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  ten  years,  any 
way.  Now  he  didn't  want  to  be  —  er  —  personal  or  any 
thing  like  that,  and  of  course  he  wouldn't  think  of  saying 
that  Mr.  Speranza  wasn't  a  nice  enough  man  for  —  well, 
for  —  for  .  .  .  You  see,  everybody  wasn't  as  particular  as 
he  and  Mrs.  Snow  were.  But  — 

Here  Sefior  Speranza  interrupted.  He  politely  desired 
to  know  if  the  person  speaking  was  endeavoring  to  convey 
the  idea  that  he,  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza,  was  not  of  suffi 
cient  poseetion,  goodness,  standing,  what  it  is  ?  to  be  consid 
ered  as  suitor  for  that  person's  daughter's  hand.  Did  Mees- 
ter  Snow  comprehend  to  whom  he  addressed  himself  ? 

The  interview  terminated  not  long  after.  The  captain's 
parting  remark  was  in  the  nature  of  an  ultimatum.  It  was 
to  the  effect  that  if  Speranza,  or  any  other  condemned  unde 
sirable  like  him,  dared  to  so  much  as  look  in  the  direction 
of  Jane  Olivia  Snow,  his  daughter,  he  personally  would  see 


THE  PORTYGEE  27 

that  the  return  for  that  look  was  a  charge  of  buckshot. 
Speranza,  white- faced  and  furiously  gesticulative,  com 
manded  the  astonished  bellboy  to  put  that  "  Bah !  pig-idiot !  " 
out  into  the  hall  and  air  the  room  immediately  afterward. 

Having,  as  he  considered,  satisfactorily  attended  to  the 
presumptuous  lover,  Captain  Zelotes  returned  to  the  school 
and  to  what  he  believed  would  be  the  comparatively  easy 
task,  the  bringing  of  his  daughter  to  reason.  Jane  had  al 
ways  been  an  obedient  girl,  she  was  devoted  to  her  parents. 
Of  course,  although  she  might  feel  rather  disappointed  at 
first,  she  would  soon  get  over  it.  The  idea  that  she  might 
flatly  refuse  to  get  over  it,  that  she  might  have  a  will  of 
her  own,  and  a  determination  equal  to  that  of  the  father 
from  whom  she  inherited  it,  did  not  occur  to  the  captain 
at  all. 

But  his  enlightenment  was  prompt  and  complete.  Jane 
did  not  rage  or  become  hysterical,  she  did  not  even  weep  in 
his  presence.  But,  quietly,  with  a  set  of  her  square  little 
chin,  she  informed  Captain  Zelotes  that  she  loved  Speranza, 
that  she  meant  to  marry  him  and  that  she  should  marry  him, 
some  day  or  other.  The  captain  raged,  commanded,  pleaded, 
begged.  What  was  the  matter  with  her?  What  had  come 
over  her  ?  Didn't  she  love  her  father  and  mother  any  more 
that  she  should  set  out  to  act  this  way?  Yes,  she  declared 
that  she  loved  them  as  much  as  ever,  but  that  she  loved  her 
lover  more  than  all  the  world,  and  no  one  —  not  even  her 
parents  —  should  separate  them. 

Captain  Zelotes  gave  it  up  at  last.  That  is,  he  gave  up  the 
appeal  to  reason  and  the  pleadings.  But  he  did  not  give  up 
the  idea  of  having  his  own  way  in  the  matter;  being  Zelotes 
Snow,  he  certainly  did  not  give  that  up.  Instead  he  took  his 
daughter  home  with  him  to  South  Harniss,  where  a  tearful 
and  heart-broken  Olive  added  her  persuasions  to  his.  But, 
when  she  found  Jane  obdurate,  Mrs.  Snow  might  have  sur 
rendered.  Not  her  husband,  however.  Instead  he  con 
ceived  a  brilliant  idea.  He  was  about  to  start  on  a  voyage 
to  Rio  Janeiro ;  he  would  take  his  wife  and  daughter  with 
him.  Under  their  immediate  observation  and  far  removed 


28  THE  PORTYGEE 

from  the  influence  of  "  that  Portygee,"  Jane  would  be  in  no 
danger  and  might  forget. 

Jane  made  no  remonstrance.  She  went  to  Rio  and  re 
turned.  She  was  always  calm,  outwardly  pleasant  and  quiet, 
never  mentioned  her  lover  unless  in  answer  to  a  question ; 
but  she  never  once  varied  from  her  determination  not  to  give 
him  up.  The  Snows  remained  at  home  for  a  month.  Then 
Zelotes,  Jane  accompanying  him,  sailed  from  Boston  to  Sa 
vannah.  Olive  did  not  go  with  them ;  she  hated  the  sea 
and  by  this  time  both  she  and  her  husband  were  somewhat 
reassured.  So  far  as  they  could  learn  by  watchful  obser 
vation  of  their  daughter,  the  latter  had  not  communicated 
with  Speranza  nor  received  communications  from  him.  If 
ishe  had  not  forgotten  him  it  seemed  likely  that  he  had  for 
gotten  her.  The  thought  made  the  captain  furiously  angry, 
but  it  comforted  him,  too. 

During  the  voyage  to  Savannah  this  sense  of  comfort  be 
came  stronger.  Jane  seemed  in  better  spirits.  She  was  al 
ways  obedient,  but  now  she  began  to  seem  almost  cheerful, 
to  speak,  and  even  laugh  occasionally  just  as  she  used  to. 
Captain  Zelotes  patted  himself  on  the  back,  figuratively.  His 
scheme  had  been  a  good  one. 

And  in  Savannah,  one  afternoon,  Jane  managed  to  elude 
her  father's  observation,  to  leave  the  schooner  and  to  disap 
pear  completely.  And  that  night  came  a  letter.  She  and 
Miguel  Carlos  Speranza  had  been  in  correspondence  all  the 
time,  how  or  th:  ough  whose  connivance  is  a  mystery  never 
disclosed.  He  had  come  to  Savannah,  in  accordance  with 
mutual  arrangement;  they  had  met,  were  married,  and  had 
gone  away  together. 

"  I  love  you,  Father,"  Jane  wrote  in  the  letter.  "  I  love 
you  and  Mother  so  very,  very  much.  Oh,  please  believe 
that!  But  I  love  him,  too.  And  I  could  not  give  him  up. 
You  will  see  why  when  you  know  him,  really  know  him. 
If  it  were  not  for  you  I  should  be  so  happy.  I  know  you 
can't  forgive  me  now,  but  some  day  I  am  sure  you  will  for 
give  us  both." 

Captain  Zelotes  was  far,  far  from  forgiveness  as  he  read 


THE  PORTYGEE  29 

that  letter.  His  first  mate,  who  was  beside  him  when  he 
opened  and  read  it,  was  actually  frightened  when  he  saw 
the  look  on  the  skipper's  face.  "  He  went  white,"  said  the 
mate ;  **  not  pale,  but  white,  same  as  a  dead  man,  or  —  or 
the  underside  of  a  flatfish,  or  somethin'.  *  For  the  Lord 
sakes,  Cap'n,'  says  I,  *  what's  the  matter?'  He  never  an 
swered  me,  stood  starin'  at  the  letter.  Then  he  looked  up, 
not  at  me,  but  as  if  somebody  else  was  standin'  there  on 
t'other  side  of  the  cabin  table.  '  Forgive  him ! '  he  says, 
kind  of  slow  and  under  his  breath.  '  I  won't  forgive  his 
black  soul  in  hell.'  When  I  heard  him  say  it  I  give  you  my 
word  my  hair  riz  under  my  cap.  If  ever  there  was  killin' 
in  a  man's  voice  and  in  his  looks  'twas  in  Cap'n  Lote's  that 
night.  When  I  asked  him  again  what  was  the  matter  he 
didn't  answer  any  more  than  he  had  the  first  time.  A  few 
minutes  afterwards  he  went  into  his  stateroom  and  shut  the 
door.  I  didn't  see  him  again  until  the  next  mornin'." 

Captain  Zelotes  made  no  attempt  to  follow  the  runaway 
couple.  He  did  take  pains  to  ascertain  that  they  were 
legally  married,  but  that  was  all.  He  left  his  schooner  in 
charge  of  the  mate  at  Savannah  and  journeyed  north  to 
South  Harniss  and  his  wife.  A  week  he  remained  at  home 
with  her,  then  returned  to  the  Olive  S.  and  took  up  his  com 
mand  and  its  duties  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  But  what 
had  happened  changed  his  whole  life.  He  became  more 
taciturn,  a  trifle  less  charitable,  a  little  harder  and  more 
worldly.  Before  the  catastrophe  he  had  been  interested  in 
business  success  and  the  making  of  money  chiefly  because  of 
his  plans  for  his  daughter's  future.  Now  ke  worked  even 
harder  because  it  helped  him  to  forget.  He  became  sole 
owner  of  the  Olive  S.,  then  of  other  schooners.  People 
spoke  of  him  as  one  destined  to  become  a  weakhy  man. 

Jane  lived  only  a  few  years  after  her  marriage.  She  died 
at  the  birth  of  her  second  child,  who  died  with  her.  Her 
first,  a  boy,  was  born  a  year  after  the  elopement.  She  wrote 
her  mother  to  tell  that  news  and  Olive  answered  the  letter. 
She  begged  permission  of  her  husband  to  kivke  Jane  and 
the  baby  to  visit  the  old  home.  At  first  Zelotes  said  no, 


30  THE  PORTYGEE 

flatly;  the  girl  had  made  her  bed,  let  her  lie  in  it.  But  a 
year  later  he  had  so  far  relented  as  to  give  reluctant  con 
sent  for  Jane  and  the  child  to  come,  provided  her  con 
demned  husband  did  not  accompany  them.  "  If  that  low 
lived  Portygee  sets  foot  on  my  premises,  so  help  me  God, 
I'll  kill  him !  "  declared  the  captain.  In  his  vernacular  all 
foreigners  were  "  Portygees." 

But  Jane  was  as  proud  and  stubborn  as  he.  Where  her 
husband  was  not  welcome  she  would  not  go.  And  a 
little  later  she  had  gone  on  the  longest  of  all  journeys. 
Speranza  did  not  notify  her  parents  except  to  send  a 
clipped  newspaper  account  of  her  death  and  burial,  which 
arrived  a  week  after  the  latter  had  taken  place.  The  news 
prostrated  Olive,  who  was  ill  for  a  month.  Captain  Zelotes 
bore  it,  as  he  had  borne  the  other  great  shock,  with  outward 
calm  and  quiet.  Yet  a  year  afterward  he  suddenly  an 
nounced  his  determination  of  giving  up  the  sea  and  his  pros 
perous  and  growing  shipping  business  and  of  spending  the 
rest  of  his  days  on  the  Cape. 

Olive  was  delighted,  of  course.  Riches  —  that  is,  more 
than  a  comfortable  competency  —  had  no  temptations  for 
her.  The  old  house,  ihome  of  three  generations  of  Snows, 
was  painted,  repaired  and,  to  some  extent,  modernized.  For 
another  year  Captain  Zelotes  "  loafed,"  as  he  called  it,  al 
though  others  might  have  considered  his  activities  about  the 
place  anything  but  that.  At  the  end  of  that  year  he  sur 
prised  every  one  by  buying  from  the  heirs  of  the  estate  the 
business  equipment  of  the  late  Eben  Raymond,  hardware 
dealer  and  lumber  merchant  of  South  Harniss,  said  equip 
ment  comprising  an  office,  a  store  and  lumber  yards  near 
the  railway  station.  "  Got  to  have  somethin'  to  keep  me 
from  gettin'  barnacled,"  declared  Captain  Lote.  "  There's 
enough  old  hulks  rottin'  at  their  moorin's  down  here  as  'tis. 
I  don't  know  anything  about  lumber  and  half  as  much  about 
hardware,  but  I  cal'late  I  can  learn."  As  an  aid  in  the 
learning  process  he  retained  as  bookkeeper  Laban  Keeler, 
who  had  acted  in  that  capacity  for  the  former  proprietor. 

The  years  slipped  away,  a  dozen  of  them,  as  smoothly  and 


THE  PORTYGEE  3x 

lazily  as  South  Harniss  years  have  always  slipped.  Captain 
Zelotes  was  past  sixty  now,  but  as  vigorous  as  when  forty, 
stubborn  as  ever,  fond  of  using  quarter-deck  methods  on 
shore  and  especially  in  town-meeting,  and  very  often  in 
trouble  in  consequence.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Board  of 
Selectmen  and  was  in  the  habit  of  characterizing  those 
whose  opinions  differed  from  his  asi  "  narrow-minded." 
They  retorted  by  accusing  him  of  being  "  pig-headed." 
There  was  some  truth  on  both  sides.  His  detest  of  foreign 
ers  had  not  abated  in  the  least. 

And  then,  in  this  December  of  the  year  1910,  fell  as  from 
a  clear  sky  the  legacy  of  a  grandson.  From  Sefior  Miguel 
Carlos  Speranza  the  Snows  had  had  no  direct  word,  had 
received  nothing  save  the  newspaper  clipping  already  men 
tioned.  Olive  had  never  seen  him;  her  husband  had  seen 
him  only  on  the  occasion  of  the  memorable  interview  in  the 
hotel  room.  They  never  spoke  of  him,  never  mentioned  him 
to  each  other.  Occasionally,  in  the  Boston  newspapers,  his 
likeness  in  costume  had  appeared  amid  the  music  notes  or 
theatrical  jottings.  But  these  'had  not  been  as  numerous  of 
late.  Of  his  son,  their  own  daughter's  child,  they  knew 
nothing ;  he  might  be  alive  or  he  might  be  dead.  Sometimes 
Olive  found  herself  speculating  concerning  him,  wondering 
if  he  was  alive,  and  if  he  resembled  Jane.  But  she  put  the 
speculation  from  her  thoughts ;  she  could  not  bear  to  bring 
back  memories  of  the  old  hopes  and  their  bitter  ending. 
Sometimes  Captain  Lote  at  his  desk  in  the  office  of  "  Z. 
Snow  &  Co.,  Lumber  and  Builders'  Hardware,"  caught  him 
self  dreaming  of  his  idolized  daughter  and  thinking  how 
different  the  future  might  have  been  for  him  had  she  mar 
ried  a  "  white  man,"  the  kind  of  man  he  had  meant  for  her 
to  marry.  There  might  be  grandchildrn  growing  up  now, 
fine  boys  and  girls,  to  visit  the  old  home  at  South  Harniss. 
"Ah  hum!  Well!  .  .  .  Labe,  how  long  has  this  bill  of 
Abner  Parker's  been  hangin'  on?  For  thunder  sakes,  why 
don't  he  pay  up?  He  must  think  we're  runnin'  a  meetin'- 
house  Christmas  tree." 

The   letter    from   the    lawyer   had   come    first.     It   was 


32  THE  PORTYGEE 

written  in  New  York,  was  addressed  to  "  Captain  Lotus 
Snow,"  and  began  by  taking  for  granted  the  fact  that  the 
recipient  knew  all  about  matters  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 
Speranza  was  dead,  so  much  was  plain,  and  the  inference 
was  that  he  had  been  fatally  injured  in  an  automobile  acci 
dent,  '*  particulars  of  which  you  have  of  course  read  in  the 
papers."  Neither  Captain  Lote  nor  his  wife  had  read  any 
thing  of  the  kind  in  the  papers.  The  captain  had  been  very 
busy  of  late  and  had  read  little  except  political  news,  and 
Mrs.  Snow  never  read  of  murders  and  accidents,  their  de 
tails  at  least.  She  looked  up  from  the  letter,  which  her  hus 
band  had  hastened  home  from  the  office  to  bring  her,  with 
a  startled  face. 

"  Oh,  Zelotes,"  she  cried,  "  he's  dead !  " 

The  captain  nodded. 

"  Seems  so,"  he  said.  "  That  part's  plain  enough,  but  go 
on.  The  rest  of  it  is  what  I  can't  get  a  hand-hold  on.  See 
what  you  make  of  the  rest  of  it,  Olive." 

The  rest  of  it  was  to  the  effect  that  the  writer,  being  Mr. 
Speranza's  business  adviser,  "that  is  to  say,  as  much  or 
more  so  than  any  one  else,"  had  been  called  in  at  the  time 
of  the  accident,  had  conferred  with  the  injured  man,  and 
had  learned  his  last  wishes.  '*  He  expressed  himself  co 
herently  concerning  his  son,"  went  on  the  letter,  <%  and  it  is 
in  regard  to  that  son  that  I  am  asking  an  interview  with 
you.  I  should  have  written  sooner,  but  have  been  engaged 
with  matters  pertaining  to  Mr.  Speranza's  estate  and  per 
sonal  debts.  The  latter  seem  to  be  large  — " 

"  I'll  bet  you  I "  observed  Captain  Zelotes,  sententiously, 
interrupting  his  wife's  reading  by  pointing  to  this  sentence 
with  a  big  forefinger. 

"  'And  the  estate's  affairs  much  tangled,'  "  went  on  Olive, 
reading  aloud.  "'*  It  seems  best  that  I  should  see  you  con 
cerning  the  boy  at  once.  I  don't  know  whether  or  not  you 

are  aware  that  he  is  at  school  in ,  New  York.  I  am 

inclined  to  think  that  the  estate  itself  will  scarcely  warrant 
the  expense  'of  his  remaining  there.  Could  you  make  it 
convenient  to  come  to  New  York  and  see  me  at  once  ?  Or, 


THE  PORTYGEE  33 

if  not,  I  shall  be  in  Boston  on  Friday  of  next  week  and  can 
you  meet  me  there?  It  seems  almost  impossible  for  me  to 
come  to  you  just  now,  and,  of  course,  you  will  understand 
that  I  am  acting  as  a  sort  of  temporary  executor  merely  be 
cause  Mr.  Speranza  was  formerly  my  friend  and  not  be 
cause  I  have  any  pecuniary  interest  in  the  settlement  of  his 
affairs. 

"'"Very  truly  yours, 

"  '  MARCUS  W.  WEISSMANN.'  " 

"  Weissman  !     Another  Portygee !  "  snorted  Captain  Lote, 

"But  —  but  what  does  it  mean?"  begged  Mrs.  Snow. 
"  Why  —  why  should  he  want  to  see  you,  Zelotes  ?  And  the 
boy  —  why  —  why,  that's  her  boy.  It's  Janie's  boy  he  must 
mean,  Zelotes." 

Her  husband  nodded. 

"  Hers  and  that  blasted  furriner's,"  he  muttered.  "  I  sup 
pose  so." 

"Oh,  don't  speak  that  way,  Zelotes!  Don't!  He's 
dead." 

Captain  Lote's  lips  tightened.  "If  he'd  died  twenty 
years  ago  'twould  have  been  better  for  all  hands,"  he 
growled. 

"  Janie's  boy !  "  repeated  Olive  slowly.  "  Why  —  why, 
he  must  be  a  big  boy  now.  Almost  grown  up." 

Her  husband  did  not  speak.  He  was  pacing  the  floor,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  And  this  man  wants  to  see  you  about  him,"  said  Olive. 
Then,  after  a  moment,  she  added  timidly :  "  Are  you  goin', 
Zelotes?" 

"Coin'?     Where?" 

"  To  New  York?    To  see  this  lawyer  man?  " 

"I?  Not  by  a  jugful!  What  in  blazes  should  I  go  to 
see  him  for?  " 

"  Well  —  well,  he  wants  you  to,  you  know.  He  wants 
to  talk  with  you  about  the  —  the  boy." 

"  Humph !  " 

"  It's  her  boy,  Zelotes." 


34  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Humph !     Young  Portygee !  " 

"  Don't,  Zelotes !  Please !  .  .  .  I  know  you  can't  forgive 
that  — that  man.  We  can't  either  of  us  forgive  him; 
but—" 

The  captain  stopped  in  his  stride.  "  Forgive  him !  "  he 
repeated.  "  Mother,  don't  talk  like  a  fool.  Didn't  he  take 
.away  the  one  thing  that  I  was  workin'  for,  that  I  was  plan- 
rinV  for,  that  I  was  limn  for  ?  I  — " 

She  interrupted,  putting  a  hand  on  his  sleeve. 

**  Not  the  only  thing,  dear,"  she  said.  "  You  had  me, 
you  know." 

His  expression  changed.  He  looked  down  at  her  and 
smiled. 

"  That's  right,  old  lady,"  he  admitted.  "  I  had  you,  and 
thank  the  Almighty  for  it.  Yes,  I  had  you  .  .  .  But,"  his 
anger  returning,  "  when  I  think  how  that  damned  scamp 
stole  our  girl  from  us  and  then  neglected  her  and  killed 
her—" 

"Zelotes!  How  you  talk!  He  didn't  kill  her.  How 
can  you !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  he  murdered  her,  of  course.  But  I'll 
bet  all  I've  got  that  he  made  her  miserable.  Look  here, 
Mother,  you  and  she  used  to  write  back  and  forth  once 
in  a  while.  In  any  one  of  those  letters  did  she  ever  say  she 
was  happy  ?  " 

Mrs.  Snow's  answer  was  somewhat  equivocal.  *'  She 
never  said  she  was  unhappy,"  she  replied.  Her  husband 
sniffed  and  resumed  his  pacing  up  and  down. 

After  a  little  Olive  spoke  again. 

"  New  York  is  a  good  ways,"  she  said.  "  Maybe  'twould 
be  better  for  you  to  meet  this  lawyer  man  in  Boston.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"Bah!" 

Another  interval.     Then :  "  Zelotes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  impatiently.     "  What  is  it?  " 

"  It's  her  boy,  after  all,  isn't  it  ?  Our  grandson,  yours 
and  mine.  Don't  you  think  —  don't  you  think  it's  your  duty 
to  go,  Zelotes?" 


THE  PORTYGEE  35 

Captain  Lote  stamped  his  foot. 

44  For  thunderation  sakes,  Olive,  let  up !  "  he  commanded. 
"  You  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  there's  one  thing  I 
hate  worse  than  doin'  my  duty,  that's  bein'  preached  to  about 
it.  Let  up !  Don't  you  say  another  word." 

She  did  not,  having  learned  much  by  years  of  experience. 
He  said  the  next  word  on  the  subject  himself.  At  noon, 
when  he  came  home  for  dinner,  he  said,  as  they  rose  from 
the  table :  4<  Where's  my  suitcase,  up  attic  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  guess  likely  'tis.     Why?" 

Instead  of  answering  he  turned  to  the  housekeeper,  Mrs. 
Ellis. 

<4  Rachel,"  he  said,  "  go  up  and  get  that  case  and  fetch 
it  down  to  the  bedroom,  will  you  ?  Hurry  up !  Train  leaves 
at  half-past  two  and  it's  'most  one  now." 

Both  women  stared  at  him.     Mrs.  Ellis  spoke  first. 

"  Why,  Cap'n  Lote,"  she  cried ;  "  be  you  goin'  away?  " 

Her  employer's  answer  was  crisp  and  very  much  to  the 
point.  4<  I  am  if  I  can  get  that  case  time  enough  to  pack  it 
and  make  the  train,"  he  observed.  "  If  you  stand  here 
askin'  questions  I  probably  shall  stay  to  home." 

The  housekeeper  made  a  hasty  exit  by  way  of  the  back 
stairs.  Mrs.  Snow  still  gazed  wonderingly  at  her  husband. 

<4  Zelotes,"  she  faltered,  "  are  you  —  are  you  — " 

*4  I'm  goin'  to  New  York  on  to-night's  boat.  I've  tele 
graphed  that  —  that  Weiss  —  Weiss  —  what-do-you-call-it 
—  tihat  Portygee  lawyer — that  I'll  be  to  his  office  to-morrow 
mornin'." 

"  But,  Zelotes,  we  haven't  scarcely  talked  about  it,  you 
and  I,  at  all.  You  might  have  waited  till  he  came  to  Boston. 
Why  do  you  go  so  soon?  " 

The  captain's  heavy  brows  drew  together. 

"  You  went  to  the  dentist's  last  Friday,"  he  said.  "  Why 
didn't  you  wait  till  next  week  ?  " 

*'  Why  —  why,  what  a  question !  My  tooth  ached  and  I 
wanted  to  have  it  fixed  quick  as  possible." 

"  Um-m,  yes.  Well,  this  tooth  aches  and  I  want  it  fixed 
or  hauled  out,  one  or  t'other.  I  want  the  thing  off  my 


36  THE  PORTYGEE 

mind.  .  .  .  Don't  talk  to  me !  "  he  added,  irritably.  "  I 
know  I'm  a  fool.  And,"  with  a  peremptory  wave  of  the 
hand,  "  don't  you  dare  say  anything  about  duty!" 

He  was  back  again  two  days  later.  His  wife  did  not 
question  him,  but  waited  for  him  to  speak.  Those  years 
of  experience  already  mentioned  had  taught  her  diplomacy. 
He  looked  at  her  and  pulled  his  beard.  "  Well,"  he  ob 
served,  when  they  were  alone  together,  "  I  saw  him." 

"  The  —  the  boy  ?  "  eagerly. 

"  No,  no !  Course  not !  The  boy's  at  school  somewhere 
up  in  New  York  State ;  how  could  I  see  him !  I  saw  that 
lawyer  and  I  found  out  about  —  about  the  other  scamp. 
He  was  killed  in  an  auto  accident,  drunk  at  the  time,  I 
cal'late.  Nigh's  I  can  gather  he's  been  drinkin'  pretty  heavy 
for  the  last  six  or  seven  years.  Always  lived  high,  same 
as  his  kind  generally  does,  and  spent  money  like  water,  I 
judge  —  but  goin'  down  hill  fast  lately.  His  voice  was  giv- 
in'  out  on  him  and  he  realized  it,  I  presume  likely.  Now  he's 
dead  and  left  nothin'  but  trunks  full  of  stage  clothes  and 
photographs  and,"  contemptuously,  "  letters  from  fool  wo 
men,  and  debts  —  Lord,  yes !  debts  enough." 

"  But  the  boy,  Zelotes.     Janie's  boy?  " 

"  He's  been  at  this  school  place  for  pretty  nigh  ten  years, 
so  the  lawyer  feller  said.  That  lawyer  was  a  pretty  decent 
chap,  too,  for  a  furriner.  Seems  he  used  to  know  this  — 
Speranza  rascal  —  when  Speranza  was  younger  and  more 
decent  —  if  he  ever  was  really  decent,  which  I  doubt.  But 
this  lawyer  man  was  his  friend  then  and  about  the  only  one 
he  really  had  when  he  was  hurt.  There  was  plenty  of 
make-believe  friends  hangin'  on,  like  pilot-fish  to  a  shark, 
for  what  they  could  get  by  spongin'  on  him,  but  real  friends 
were  scarce." 

"And  the  boy—" 

"  For  the  Lord  sakes,  Mother,  don't  keep  sayin'  '  The 
boy,'  '  the  boy/  over  and  over  again  like  a  talkin'  machine ! 
Let  me  finish  about  the  father  first.  This  Weis  —  er  — 
thingamajig  —  the  lawyer,  had  quite  a  talk  with  Speranza 
afore  he  died,  or  while  he  was  dyin' ;  he  only  lived  a  few 


THE  PORTYGEE  37 

hours  after  the  accident  and  was  out  of  his  head  part  of  that. 
'But  he  said  enough  to  let  Weiss  —  er  —  er —  Oh,  why 
can't  I  remember  that  Portygee's  name  ?  —  to  let  him  know 
that  he'd  like  to  have  him  settle  up  what  was  left  of  his 
affairs,  and  to  send  word  to  us  about  —  about  the  boy. 
There !  I  hope  you  feel  easier,  Mother ;  I've  got  'round  to 
'  the  boy  '  at  last." 

"  But  why  did  he  want  word  sent  to  us,  Zelotes  ?  He 
never  wrote  a  line  to  us  in  his  life." 

"You  bet  he  didn't!"  bitterly;  "  he  knew  better.  Why 
did  he  want  word  sent  now?  The  answer  to  that's  easy 
enough.  'Cause  he  wanted  to  get  somethin'  out  of  us,  that's 
the  reason.  From  what  that  lawyer  could  gather,  and  from 
what  he's  found  out  since,  there  ain't  money  enough  for 
the  boy  to  stay  another  six  weeks  at  that  school,  or  anywhere 
else,  unless  the  young  feller  earns  it  himself.  And,  leavin' 
us  out  of  the  count,  there  isn't  a  relation  this  side  of  the 
salt  pond.  There's  probably  a  million  or  so  over  there  in 
Portygee-land,"  with  a  derisive  sniff ;  "  those  foreigners 
breed  like  flies.  But  they  don't  count." 

"  But  did  he  want  word  sent  to  us  about  the  — " 

"Sshh!  I'm  tellin'  you,  Olive,  I'm  tellin'  you.  He 
wanted  word  sent  because  he  was  in  hopes  that  we  —  you 
and  I,  Mother  —  would  take  that  son  of  his  in  at  our  house 
here  and  give  him  a  home.  The  cheek  of  it !  After  what 
he'd  done  to  you  and  me,  blast  him!  The  solid  brass 
nerve  of  it !  " 

He  stormed  up  and  down  the  room.  His  wife  did  not 
seem  nearly  so  much  disturbed  as  he  at  the  thought  of  the 
Speranza  presumption.  She  looked  anxious  —  yes,  but  she 
looked  eager,  too,  and  her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  hus 
band's  face. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  softly.  "Oh!  .  .  .  And  — and  what 
did  you  say,  Zelotes?" 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  What  do  you  suppose  I  said  ?  I  said 
no,  and  I  said  it  good  and  loud,  too." 

Olive  made  no  comment.  She  turned  away  her  head,  and 
the  captain,  who  now  in  his  turn  was  watching  her,  saw  a 


38  THE  PORTYGEE 

suspicious  gleam,  as  of  moisture,  on  her  cheek.     He  stopped 
his  pacing  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"There,  there,  Mother,"  he  said,  gently.  *'  Don't  cry. 
He's  comin'." 

*'  Comin'  ?  "  She  turned  pale.  "  Comin'  ?  "  she  repeated. 
"Who?" 

"  That  boy !  ...  Sshh !  shh !  "  impatiently.  "  Now 
don't  go  askin'  me  questions  or  tellin'  me  what  I  just  said  I 
said.  I  said  the  right  thing,  but  —  Well,  hang  it  all,  what 
else  could  I  do?  I  wrote  the  boy  —  Albert  —  a  letter  and 
I  wrote  the  boss  of  the  school  another  one.  I  sent  a  check 
along  for  expenses  and  —  Well,  he'll  be  here  'most  any  day 
now,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  And  what  in  the  devil  are  we 
goin'  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

His  wife  did  not  reply  to  this  outburst.  She  was  trem 
bling  with  excitement. 

"  Is  — is  his  name  Albert?"  she  faltered. 

**  Um-hm.     Seems  so." 

"  Why,  that's  your  middle  name !  Do  you  —  do  you 
s'pose  Janie  could  have  named  him  for  —  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

*'  Of  course,"  with  some  hesitation,  "  it  may  be  she  didn't. 
If  she'd  named  him  Zelotes — " 

"  Good  heavens,  woman !  Isn't  one  name  like  that  enough 
in  the  family?  Thank  the  Lord  we're  spared  two  of  'em! 
But  there!  he's  comin'.  And  when  he  gets  here  —  then 
what?" 

Olive  put  her  arm  about  her  big  husband. 

"  I  hope  —  yes,  I'm  sure  you  did  right,  Zelotes,  and 
that  all's  goin'  to  turn  out  to  be  for  the  best." 

"  Are  you  ?    Well,  7  ain't  sure,  not  by  a  thousand  fathom." 

"  He's  Janie's  boy." 

"Yes.  And  he's  that  play-actor's  boy,  too.  One  Sper- 
anza  pretty  nigh  ruined  your  life  and  mine,  Olive.  What'll 
this  one  do?  .  .  .  Well,  God  knows,  I  suppose  likely,  but 
He  won't  tell.  All  we  can  do  is  wait  and  see.  I  tell  you 
honest  I  ain't  very  hopeful." 


CHAPTER  III 

A  BRISK  rap  on  the  door;  then  a  man's  voice. 
"Hello,  there!     Wake  up." 
Albert  rolled  over,  opened  one  eye,  then  the  other 
and  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

"  Eh  ?    Wh-what  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  Seven  o'clock !     Time  to  turn  out." 

The  voice  was  his  grandfather's.  "  Oh  —  oh,  all  right !  " 
he  answered. 

**  Understand  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  yes,  sir.     I'll  be  right  down." 

The  stairs  creaked  as  Captain  Zelotes  descended  them. 
Albert  yawned  cavernously,  stretched  and  slid  one  foot  out 
of  bed.  He  drew  it  back  instantly,  however,  for  the  sen 
sation  was  that  of  having  thrust  it  into  a  bucket  of  cold 
water.  The  room  had  been  cold  the  previous  evening; 
plainly  it  was  colder  still  now.  The  temptation  was  to  turn 
back  and  go  to  sleep  again,  but  he  fought  against  it.  Some 
how  he  had  a  feeling  that  to  disregard  his  grandfather's 
summons  would  be  poor  diplomacy. 

He  set  his  teeth  and,  tossing  back  the  bed  clothes,  jumped 
to  the  floor.  Then  he  jumped  again,  for  the  floor  was  like 
ice.  The  window  was  wide  open  and  he  closed  it,  but  there 
was  no  warm  radiator  to  cuddle  against  while  dressing.  He 
missed  his  compulsory  morning  shower,  a  miss  which  did 
not  distress  him  greatly.  He  shook  himself  into  his  clothes, 
soused  his  head  and  neck  in  a  basin  of  ice  water  poured 
from  a  pitcher,  and,  before  brushing  his  hair,  looked  out 
of  the  window. 

It  was  a  sharp  winter  morning.  The  wind  had  gone 
down,  but  before  subsiding  it  had  blown  every  trace  of  mist 
or  haze  from  the  air,  and  from  his  window-sill  to  the 
horizon  every  detail  was  clean  cut  and  distinct.  He  was 

39 


40  THE  PORTYGEE 

looking  out,  it  seemed,  from  the  back  of  the  house.  The 
roof  of  the  kitchen  extension  was  below  him  and,  to  the 
right,  the  high  roof  of  the  barn.  Over  the  kitchen  roof 
and  to  the  left  he  saw  little  rolling  hills,  valleys,  cranberry 
swamps,  a  pond.  A  road  wound  in  and  out  and,  scattered 
along  it,  were  houses,  mostly  white  with  green  blinds,  but 
occasionally  varied  by  the  gray  of  unpainted,  weathered 
shingles.  A  long,  low-spreading  building  a  half  mile  off 
looked  as  if  it  might  be  a  summer  hotel,  now  closed  and 
shuttered.  Beyond  it  was  a  cluster  of  gray  shanties  and  a 
gleam  of  water,  evidently  a  wharf  and  a  miniature  harbor. 
And,  beyond  that,  the  deep,  brilliant  blue  of  the  sea.  Brown 
and  blue  were  the  prevailing  colors,  but,  here  and  there, 
clumps  and  groves  of  pines  gave  splashes  of  green. 

There  was  an  exhilaration  in  the  crisp  air.  He  felt  an 
unwonted  liveliness  and  a  desire  to  be  active  which  would 
have  surprised  some  of  his  teachers  at  the  school  he  had 
just  left.  The  depression  of  spirits  of  which  he  had  been 
conscious  the  previous  night  had  disappeared  along  with 
his  premonitions  of  unpleasantness.  He  felt  optimistic  this 
morning.  After  giving  his  curls  a  rake  with  the  comb,  he 
opened  the  door  and  descended  the  steep  stairs  to  the  lower 
floor. 

His  grandmother  was  setting  the  breakfast  table.  He 
was  a  little  surprised  to  see  her  doing  it.  What  was  the 
use  of  having  servants  if  one  did  the  work  oneself  ?  But 
perhaps  the  housekeeper  was  ill. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Snow,  who  had  not  heard  him  enter,  turned  and 
saw  him.  When  he  crossed  the  room,  she  kissed  him  on  the 
cheek. 

*'  Good  morning,  Albert,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  slept 
well." 

Albert  replied  that  he  had  slept  very  well  indeed.  He  was 
a  trifle  disappointed  that  she  made  no  comment  on  his 
promptness  in  answering  his  grandfather's  summons.  He 
felt  such  promptness  deserved  commendation.  At  school 
they  rang  two  bells  at  ten  minute  intervals,  thus  giving  a 


THE  PORTYGEE  41 

fellow  a  second  chance.  It  had  been  a  point  of  senior  eti 
quette  to  accept  nothing  but  that  second  chance.  Here,  ap 
parently,  he  was  expected  to  jump  at  the  first.  There  was  a 
matter  of  course  about  his  grandmother's  attitude  which 
was  disturbing. 

She  went  on  setting  the  table,  talking  as  she  did  so. 

"  I'm  real  glad  you  did  sleep,"  she  said.  "  Some  folks 
can  hardly  ever  sleep  the  first  night  in  a  strange  room. 
Zelotes  —  I  mean  your  grandpa  —  's  gone  out  to  see  to  the 
horse  and  feed  the  hens  and  the  pig.  He'll  be  in  pretty 
soon.  Then  we'll  have  breakfast.  I  suppose  you're  awful 
hungry." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  not  very  hungry.  Breakfast 
was  always  a  more  or  less  perfunctory  meal  with  him. 
But  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  variety  of  eatables  upon 
that  table.  There  were  cookies  there,  and  doughnuts,  and 
even  half  an  apple  pie.  Pie  for  breakfast!  It  had  been  a 
newspaper  joke  at  which  he  had  laughed  many  times.  But 
it  seemed  not  to  be  a  joke  here,  rather  a  solemn  reality. 

The  kitchen  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Ellis  put  in  her  head. 
To  Albert's  astonishment  the  upper  part  of  the  head,  be 
ginning  just  above  the  brows,  was  swathed  in  a  huge  band 
age.  The  lower  part  was  a  picture  of  hopeless  misery. 

"  Has  Cap'n  Lote  come  in  yet  ? "  inquired  the  house 
keeper,  faintly. 

"  Not  yet,  Rachel,"  replied  Mrs.  Snow.  "  He'll  be  here 
in  a  minute,  though.  Albert's  down,  so  you  can  begin 
takin'  up  the  things." 

The  head  disappeared.  A  sigh  of  complete  wretched 
ness  drifted  in  as  the  door  closed.  Albert  looked  at  his 
grandmother  in  alarm. 

"Is  she  sick?"  he  faltered. 

"Who?  Rachel?  No,  she  ain't  exactly  sick  .  .  . 
Dear  me !  Where  did  I  put  that  clean  napkin  ?  " 

The  boy  stared  at  the  kitchen  door.  If  his  grandmother 
had  said  the  housekeeper  was  not  exactly  dead  he  might 
have  understood.  But  to  say  she  was  not  exactly  sick  — 

"  But  —  but  what  makes  her  look  so  ?  "  he  stammered. 


42  THE  PORTYGEE 


"  And  —  and  what's  she  got  that  on  her  head  for  ?  And  she 
groaned  !  Why,  she  must  be  sick !  " 

Mrs.  Snow,  having  found  the  clean  napkin,  laid  it  beside 
her  husband's  plate. 

"  No,"  she  said  calmly.  "  It's  one  of  her  sympathetic 
attacks ;  that's  what  she  calls  'em,  sympathetic  attacks.  She 
has  'em  every  time  Laban  Keeler  starts  in  on  one  of  his 
periodics.  It's  nerves,  I  suppose.  Cap'n  Zelotes  —  your 
grandfather — says  it's  everlastin'  foolishness.  Whatever 
'tis,  it's  a  nuisance.  And  she's  so  sensible  other  times,  too." 

Albert  was  more  puzzled  than  ever.  Why  in  the  world 
Mrs.  Ellis  should  tie  up  her  head  and  groan  because  the 
little  Keeler  person  had  gone  on  a  spree  was  beyond  his 
comprehension. 

His  grandmother  enlightened  him  a  trifle. 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on,  "  she  and  Laban  have  been  en 
gaged  to  be  married  ever  since  they  were  young  folks.  It's 
Laban's  weakness  for  liquor  that's  kept  'em  apart  so  long. 
She  won't  marry  him  while  he  drinks  and  he  keeps  swearin' 
off  and  then  breaking  down.  He's  a  good  man,  too;  an 
awful  good  man  and  capable  as  all  get-out  when  he's  sober. 
Lately  —  that  is,  for  the  last  seven  or  eight  years,  begin- 
nin'  with  the  time  when  that  lecturer  on  mesmerism  and 
telegraphy  —  no,  telepathy  —  thought-transfers  and  such  — 
was  at  the  town  hall  —  Rachel  has  been  havin'  these  sympa 
thetic  attacks  of  hers.  She  declares  that  alcohol-takin'  is 
a  disease  and  that  Laban  suffers  when  he's  tipsy  and  that 
she  and  he  are  so  bound  up  together  that  she  suffers  just 
the  same  as  he  does.  I  must  say  I  never  noticed  him  suf- 
f  erin'  very  much,  not  at  the  beginnin,'  anyhow  —  acts  more 
as  he  was  havin'  a  good  time  —  but  she  seems  to.  I  don't 
wonder  you  smile,"  she  added.  "  Tis  funny,  in  a  way,  and 
it's  queer  that  such  a  practical,  common-sense  woman  as 
Rachel  Ellis  is,  should  have  such  a  notion.  It's  hard  on  us, 
though.  Don't  say  anything  to  her  about  it,  and  don't  laugh 
at  her,  whatever  you  do." 

Albert  wanted  to  laugh  very  much.  "  But,  Mrs. 
Snow  — "  he  began. 


THE  PORTYGEE 


"  Mercy  sakes  alive  !  You  ain't  goin'  to  call  me  *  Mrs. 
Snow/  I  hope." 

**  No,  of  course  not.  But,  Grandmother,  why  do  you 
and  Captain  —  you  and  Grandfather  keep  her  and  Keeler  if 
they  are  so  much  trouble  ?  Why  don't  you  let  them  go  and 
get  someone  else  ?  " 

"  Let  'em  go  ?  Get  someone  else  !  Why,  we  couldn't 
get  anybody  else,  anyone  who  would  be  like  them.  They're 
almost  a  part  of  our  family;  that  is,  Rachel  is,  she's  been 
here  since  goodness  knows  when.  And,  when  he's  sober 
Laban  almost  runs  the  lumber  business.  Besides,  they're 
nice  folks  —  almost  always." 

Plainly  the  ways  of  South  Harniss  were  not  the  ways  of 
the  world  he  had  known.  Certainly  these  people  were 
"  Rubes  "  and  queer  Rubes,  too.  Then  he  remembered 
that  two  of  them  were  his  grandparents  and  that  his  im 
mediate  future  was,  so  to  speak,  in  their  hands.  The 
thought  was  not  entirely  comforting  or  delightful.  He  was 
still  pondering  upon  it  when  his  grandfather  came  in  from 
the  barn. 

The  captain  said  good  morning  in  the  same  way  he  had 
said  good  night,  that  is,  he  and  Albert  shook  hands  and 
the  boy  was  again  conscious  of  the  gaze  which  took  him 
in  from  head  to  foot  and  of  the  quiet  twinkle  in  the  gray 
eyes. 

"  Sleep  well,  son  ?  "  inquired  Captain  Zelotes. 

"  Yes  ...  Yes,  sir." 

"  That's  good.  I  judged  you  was  makin'  a  pretty  good 
try  at  it  when  I  thumped  on  your  door  this  mornin'.  Some- 
thin'  new  for  you  to  be  turned  out  at  seven,  eh  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Eh?    It  wasn't?" 

"  No,  sir.  The  rising  bell  rang  at  seven  up  at  school. 
We  were  supposed  to  be  down  at  breakfast  at  a  quarter 
past." 

"  Humph  !  You  were,  eh  ?  Supposed  to  be  ?  Does  that 
mean  that  you  were  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 


44  THE  PORTYGEE 


There  was  a  surprised  look  in  the  gray  eyes  now,  a  fact 
which  Albert  noticed  with  inward  delight.  He  had  taken 
•one  "  rLe  "  out  of  his  grandfather,  at  any  rate.  He  waited, 
hoping  for  another  opportunity,  but  it  did  not  come.  In 
stead  they  sat  down  to  breakfast. 

Breakfast,  in  spite  of  the  morning  sunshine  at  the  win 
dows,  was  somewhat  gloomy.  The  homesickness,  although 
not  as  acute  as  on  the  previous  night,  was  still  in  evidence. 
Albert  felt  lost,  out  of  his  element,  lonely.  And,  to  add  a 
touch  of  real  miserableness,  the  housekeeper  served  and  ate 
like  a  near  relative  of  the  deceased  at  a  funeral  feast.  She 
moved  slowly,  she  sighed  heavily,  and  the  bandage  upon  her 
forehead  loomed  large  and  portentous.  When  spoken  to 
she  seldom  replied  before  the  third  attempt.  Captain 
Zelotes  lost  patience. 

"  Have  another  egg  ?  "  he  roared,  brandishing  the  spoon 
containing  it  at  arm's  length  and  almost  under  her  nose. 
"  Egg !  Egg!  EGG !  If  you  can't  hear  it,  smell  it.  Only 
answer,  for  heaven  sakes !  " 

The  effect  of  this  outburst  was  obviously  not  what  he 
had  hoped.  Mrs.  Ellis  stared  first  at  the  egg  quivering  be 
fore  her  face,  then  at  the  captain.  Then  she  rose  and 
marched  majestically  to  the  kitchen.  The  door  closed,  but 
a  heartrending  sniff  drifted  in  through  the  crack.  Olive 
laid  down  her  knife  and  fork. 

"There ! "  she  exclaimed,  despairingly.  "  N'ow  see  what 
you've  done.  Oh,  Zelotes,  how  many  times  have  I  told  you 
you've  got  to  treat  her  tactful  when  she's  this  way  ?  " 

Captain  Lote  put  the  egg  back  in  the  bowl. 

"Damn!"  he  observed,  with  intense  enthusiasm. 

His  wife  shook  her  head. 

"  Swearin'  don't  help  it  a  mite,  either,"  she  declared. 
"  Besides  I  don't  know  what  Albert  here  must  think  of  you." 

Albert,  who,  between  astonishment  and  a  wild  desire  to 
laugh,  was  in  a  critical  condition,  appeared  rather  em 
barrassed.  His  grandfather  looked  at  him  and  smiled 
grimly. 

"  I  cal'late  one  damn  won't  scare  him  to  death,"  he  ob- 


THE  PORTYGEE  45 

served.  "  Maybe  he's  heard  somethin'  like  it  afore.  Or  do 
they  say,  '  Oh,  sugar ! '  up  at  that  school  you  come  from  ?  " 
he  added. 

Albert,  not  knowing  how  to  reply,  looked  more  em 
barrassed  than  ever.  Olive  seemed  on  the  point  of  weeping. 

"  Oh,  Zelotes,  how  can  you !  "  she  wailed.  *'  And  to-day, 
of  all  days  !  His  very  first  mornin' !  " 

Captain  Lote  relented. 

"  There,  there,  Mother !  "  he  said.  '*  I'm  sorry.  Forget 
it.  Sorry  if  I  shocked  you,  Albert.  There's  times  when 
salt-water  language  is  the  only  thing  that  seems  to  help  me 
out  ...  Well,  Mother,  what  next  ?  Whatll  we  do  now  ?  " 

"  You  know  just  as  well  as  I  do,  Zelotes.  There's  only 
one  thing  you  can  do.  That's  go  out  and  beg  her  pardon 
this  minute.  There's  a  dozen  places  she  could  get  right 
here  in  South  Harniss  without  turnin'  her  hand  over.  And 
if  she  should  leave  I  don't  know  what  I'd  do." 

"  Leave !  She  ain't  goin'  to  leave  any  more'n  than  the 
ship's  cat's  goin'  to  jump  overboard.  She's  been  here  so 
long  she  wouldn't  know  how  to  leave  if  she  wanted  to." 

"  That  don't  make  any  difference.  The  pitcher  that  goes 
to  the  well  —  er  —  er  — " 

She  had  evidently  forgotten  the  rest  of  the  proverb.  Her 
husband  helped  her  out. 

"  Flocks  together  or  gathers  no  moss,  or  somethin',  eh  ? 
All  right,  Mother,  don't  fret.  There  ain't  really  any  occasion 
to,  considerin'  we've  been  through  somethin'  like  this  at 
least  once  every  six  months  for  ten  years." 

**  Zelotes,  won't  you  please  go  and  ask  her  pardon . 

The  captain  pushed  back  his  chair.  "  I'll  be  hanrt '  if 
it  ain't  a  healthy  note,"  he  grumbled,  "  when  the  skipper  has 
to  go  and  apologize  to  the  cook  because  the  cook's  made  a 
fool  of  herself !  I'd  like  to  know  what  kind  of  rum  Labe 
drinks.  I  never  saw  any  but  his  kind  that  would  go  to 
somebody  else's  head.  Two  people  gettin'  tight  and  only  one 
of  'em  drinkin'  is  somethin' — " 

He  disappeared  into  the  kitchen,  still  muttering.  Mrs. 
Snow  smiled  feebly  at  her  grandson. 


46  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  I  guess  you  think  we're  funny  folks,  Albert,"  she  said. 
"  But  Rachel  is  one  hired  help  in  a  thousand  and  she  has  to 
be  treated  just  so." 

Five  minutes  later  Cap'n  'Lote  returned.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  sat  down  at  his  place. 

"  All  right,  Mother,  all  right,"  he  observed.  "  I've  been 
heavin'  ile  on  the  troubled  waters  and  the  sea's  smoothin' 
down.  She'll  be  kind  and  condescendin'  enough  to  eat  with 
us  in  a  minute  or  so." 

She  was.  She  came  into  the  dining-room  with  the  air 
of  a  saint  going  to  martyrdom  and  the  remainder  of  the 
meal  was  eaten  by  the  quartet  almost  in  silence.  When  it 
was  over  the  captain  said: 

"Well,  Al,  feel  like  walkin',  do  you?" 

"  Why,  why,  yes,  sir,  I  guess  so." 

"  Humph !  You  don't  seem  very  wild  at  the  prospect. 
Walkin'  ain't  much  in  your  line,  maybe.  More  used  to 
autoin',  perhaps  ?  " 

Mrs.  Snow  put  in  a  word.  "  Don't  talk  so,  Zelotes,"  she 
said.  "  He'll  think  you're  makin'  fun  of  him." 

"  Who?  Me?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Well,  Al,  do  you  want 
to  walk  down  to  the  lumber  yard  with  me  ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated.  The  quiet  note  of  sarcasm  in  his 
grandfather's  voice  was  making  him  furiously  angry  once 
more,  just  as  it  had  done  on  the  previous  night. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  "  he  asked,  shortly. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  cal'late  I  do." 

Albert,  without  another  word,  walked  to  the  hat-rack  in 
the  hall  and  began  putting  on  his  coat.  Captain  Lote 
watched  him  for  a  moment  and  then  put  on  his  own. 

•'We'll  be  back  to  dinner,  Mother,"  he  said.  "Heave 
ahead,  Al,  if  you're  ready." 

There  was  little  conversation  between  the  pair  during  the 
half  mile  walk  to  the  office  and  yards  of  "  Z.  Snow  and  Co., 
Lumber  and  Builders'  Hardware."  Only  once  did  the  cap 
tain  offer  a  remark.  That  was  just  as  they  came  out  by  the 
big  posts  at  the  entrance  to  the  driveway.  Then  he  said : 

"  Al,  I  don't  want  you  to  get  the  idea  from  what  hap- 


THE  PORTYGEE  47 

pened  at  the  table  just  now  —  that  foolishness  about  Rachel 
Ellis  —  that  your  grandmother  ain't  a  sensible  woman.  She 
is,  and  there's  no  better  one  on  earth.  Don't  let  that  fact 
slip  your  mind." 

Albert,  somewhat  startled  by  the  abruptness  of  the  ob 
servation,  looked  up  in  surprise.  He  found  the  gray  eyes 
looking  down  at  him. 

u  I  noticed  you  lookin'  at  her,"  went  on  his  grandfather, 
"  as  if  you  was  kind  of  wonderin'  whether  to  laugh  at  her 
or  pity  her.  You  needn't  do  either.  She's  kind-hearted 
and  that  makes  her  put  up  with  Rachel's  silliness.  Then, 
besides,  Rachel  herself  is  common  sense  and  practical  nine- 
tenths  of  the  time.  It's  always  a  good  idea,  son,  to  sail  one 
v'yage  along  with  a  person  before  you  decide  whether  to 
class  'em  as  A.  B.  or  just  roustabout." 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  boy's  face.  He  felt  guilty  and 
the  feeling  made  him  angrier  than  ever. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  he  burst  out,  indignantly,  "  you  should 
say  I  was  laughing  at  —  at  Mrs.  Snow  — " 

"  At  your  grandmother." 

"  Well  —  yes  —  at  my  grandmother.  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  say  that.  I  wasn't." 

"Wasn't  you?  Good!  I'm  glad  of  it.  I  wouldn't,  any 
how.  She's  liable  to  be  about  the  best  friend  you'll  have  in 
this  world." 

To  Albert's  mind  flashed  the  addition :  "  Better  than 
you,  that  means,"  but  he  kept  it  to  himself. 

The  lumber  yards  were  on  a  spur  track  not  very  far  from 
the  railway  station  where  he  had  spent  that  miserable  half 
hour  the  previous  evening.  The  darkness  then  had  pre 
vented  his  seeing  them.  Not  that  he  would  have  been 
greatly  interested  if  he  had  seen  them,  nor  was  he  more  in 
terested  now,  although  his  grandfather  took  him  on  a  per 
sonally  conducted  tour  between  the  piles  of  spruce  and 
pine  and  hemlock  and  pointed  out  which  was  which  and 
added  further  details.  "  Those  are  two  by  fours,"  he  said. 
Or,  "  Those  are  larger  joist,  different  sizes."  "  This  is 
good,  clear  stock,  as  good  a  lot  of  white  pine  as  we've  got 


48  THE  PORTYGEE 

hold  of  for  a  long  spell."  He  gave  particulars  concerning 
the  "  handiest  way  to  drive  a  team  "  to  one  or  the  other  of 
the  piles.  Albeit  found  it  rather  boring.  He  longed  to 
speak  concerning  enormous  lumber  yards  he  had  seen  in 
New  York  or  Chicago  or  elsewhere.  He  felt  almost  a  pity 
ing  condescension  toward  this  provincial  grandparent  who 
seemed  to  think  his  little  piles  of  "  two  by  fours  "  so  im 
portant. 

It  was  much  the  same,  perhaps  a  little  worse,  when  they 
entered  the  hardware  shop  and  the  office.  The  rows  and 
rows  of  little  drawers  and  boxes,  each  with  samples  of  its 
contents  —  screws,  or  bolts,  or  hooks,  or  knobs  —  affixed 
to  its  front,  were  even  more  boring  than  the  lumber  piles. 
There  was  a  countryfied,  middle-aged  person  in  overalls 
sweeping  out  the  shop  and  Captain  Zelotes  introduced  him. 

"  Albert/'  he  said,  "  this  is  Mr.  Issachar  Price,  who  works 
around  the  place  here.  Issy,  let  me  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  grandson,  Albert." 

Mr.  Price,  looking  over  his  spectacles,  extended  a  horny 
hand  and  observed :  "  Yus,  yus.  Pleased  to  meet  you, 
Albert.  I've  heard  tell  of  you." 

Albert's  private  appraisal  of  "  Issy  "  was  that  the  latter 
was  another  funny  Rube.  Whatever  Issy's  estimate  of  his 
employer's  grandson  might  have  been,  he,  also,  kept  it  to 
himself. 

Captain  Zelotes  looked  about  the  shop  and  glanced  into 
the  office. 

"  Humph  I  "  he  grunted.  "  No  sign  or  symptoms  of  La- 
ban  this  mornin',  I  presume  likely  ?  " 

Issachar  went  on  with  his  sweeping. 

*'  Nary  one/'  was  his  laconic  reply. 

"  Humph !     Heard  anything  about  him?  " 

Mr.  Price  moistened  his  broom  in  a  bucket  of  water.  "  I 
see  Tim  Kelley  on  my  way  down  street,"  he  said.  "  Tim 
said  he  run  afoul  of  Laban  along  about  ten  last  night.  Said 
he  cal'lated  Labe  was  on  his  way.  He  was  singin'  '  Hyannis 
on  the  Cape '  and  so  Tim  figgered  he'd  got  a  pretty  fair 
start  already." 


THE  PORTYGEE  49 


The  captain  shook  his  head.  "  Tut,  tut,  tut ! "  he  mut 
tered.  "  Well,  that  means  I'll  have  to  do  office  work  for 
the  next  week  or  so.  Humph!  I  declare  it's  too  bad  just 
now  when  I  was  countin'  on  him  to  — "  He  did  not  finish 
the  sentence,  but  instead  turned  to  his  grandson  and  said: 
"  Al,  why  don't  you  look  around  the  hardware  store  here 
while  I  open  the  mail  and  the  safe.  If  there's  anything 
you  see  you  don't  understand  Issy'll  tell  you  about  it." 

He  went  into  the  office.  Albert  sauntered  listlessly  to 
the  window  and  looked  out.  So  far  as  not  understanding 
anything  in  the  shop  was  concerned  he  was  quite  willing  to 
remain  in  ignorance.  It  did  not  interest  him  in  the  least. 
A  moment  later  he  felt  a  touch  on  his  elbow.  He  turned, 
to  find  Mr.  Price  standing  beside  him. 

"  I'm  all  ready  to  tell  you  about  it  now,"  volunteered  the 
unsmiling  Issy.  "  Sweepin's  all  finished  up." 

Albert  was  amused.  "  I  guess  I  can  get  along,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  worry." 

'*  I  ain't  worried  none.  I  don't  believe  in  worryin' ; 
worryin'  don't  do  folks  no  good,  the  way  I  look  at  it.  But 
long's  Cap'n  Lote  wants  me  to  tell  you  about  the  hardware 
I'd  ruther  do  it  now,  than  any  time.  Henry  Cahoon's  team'll 
be  here  for  a  load  of  lath  in  about  ten  minutes  or  so,  and 
then  I'll  have  to  leave  you.  This  here's  the  shelf  where 
we  keep  the  butts  —  hinges,  you  understand.  Brass  along 
here,  and  iron  here.  Got  quite  a  stock,  ain't  we." 

He  took  the  visitor's  arm  in  his  mighty  paw  and  led  him 
from  shelves  to  drawers  and  from  drawers  to  boxes,  talk 
ing,  all  the  time,  so  the  boy  thought,  "  like  a  catalogue." 
Albert  tried  gently  to  break  away  several  times  and  yawned 
often,  but  yawns  and  hints  were  quite  lost  on  his  guide,  who 
was  intent  only  upon  the  business  —  and  victim  —  in  hand. 
At  the  window  looking  across  toward  the  main  road  Albert 
paused  longest.  There  was  a  girl  in  sight  —  she  looked,  at 
that  distance,  as  if  she  might  be  a  rather  pretty  girl  —  and 
the  young  man  was  languidly  interested.  He  had  recently 
made  the  discovery  that  pretty  girls  may  be  quite  interest 
ing;  and,  moreover,  one  or  two  of  them  whom  he  had  met 


50  THE  PORTYGEE 

at  the  school  dances  —  when  the  young  ladies  from  the 
Misses  Bradshaws'  seminary  had  come  over,  duly  guarded 
and  chaperoned,  to  one-step  and  fox-trot  with  the  young 
gentlemen  of  the  school  —  one  or  two  of  these  young  ladies 
had  intimated  a  certain  interest  in  him.  So  the  feminine 
possibility  across  the  road  attracted  his  notice  —  only  slightly, 
of  course ;  the  sophisticated  metropolitan  notice  is  not  easily 
aroused  —  but  still,  slightly. 

"  Come  on,  come  on,"  urged  Issachar  Price.  "  I  ain't 
begun  to  show  ye  the  whole  of  it  yet  ...  Eh  ?  Oh,  Lord, 
there  comes  Cahoon's  team  now !  Well,  I  got  to  go.  Show 
you  the  rest  some  other  time.  So  long  ...  Eh?  Cap'n 
Lote's  callin'  you,  ain't  he  ?  " 

Albert  went  into  the  office  in  response  to  his  grandfather's 
call  to  find  the  latter  seated  at  an  old-fashioned  roll-top 
desk,  piled  with  papers. 

"  I've  got  to  go  down  to  the  bank,  Al,"  he  said.  "  Some 
business  about  a  note  that  Laban  ought  to  be  here  to  see 
to,  but  ain't.  I'll  be  back  pretty  soon.  You  just  stay  here 
and  wait  for  me.  You  might  be  lookin'  over  the  books,  if 
you  want  to.  I  took  'em  out  of  the  safe  and  they're  on 
Labe's  desk  there,"  pointing  to  the  high  standing  desk  by  the 
window.  "  They're  worth  lookin'  at,  if  only  to  see  how  neat 
they're  kept.  A  set  of  books  like  that  is  an  example  to  any 
young  man.  You  might  be  lookin'  'em  over." 

He  hurried  out.  Albert  smiled  condescendingly  and,  in 
stead  of  looking  over  Mr.  Keeler's  books,  walked  over  to 
the  window  and  looked  out  of  that.  The  girl  was  not  in 
sight  now,  but  she  might  be  soon.  At  any  rate  watching 
for  her  was  as  exciting  as  any  amusement  he  could  think 
of  about  that  dull  hole.  Ah  hum!  he  wondered  how  the 
fellows  were  at  school. 

The  girl  did  not  reappear.  Signs  of  animation  along  the 
main  road  were  limited.  One  or  two  men  went  by,  then  a 
group  of  children  obviously  on  their  way  to  school.  Albert 
yawned  again,  took  the  silver  cigarette  case  from  his  pocket 
and  looked  longingly  at  its  contents.  He  wondered  what 
his  grandfather's  ideas  might  be  on  the  tobacco  question. 


THE  PORTYGEE  51 

But  his  grandfather  was  not  there  then  .  .  .  and  he  might 
not  return  for  some  time  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  He  took  a  cigar 
ette  from  the  case,  tapped,  with  careful  carelessness,  its  end 
upon  the  case  —  he  would  not  have  dreamed  of  smoking 
without  first  going  through  the  tapping  process  —  lighted 
the  cigarette  and  blew  a  large  and  satisfying  cloud.  Be 
tween  puffs  he  sang : 

"  To  you,  beautiful  lady, 

I  raise  my  eyes. 
My  heart,  beautiful  lady, 

To  your  heart  cries: 
Come,  come,  beautiful  lady, 

To  Par-a-dise, 
As  the  sweet,  sweet  — '  " 

Some  one  behind  him  said :  "  Excuse  me."  The  appeal 
to  the  beautiful  lady  broke  off  in  the  middle,  and  he  whirled 
about  to  find  the  girl  whom  he  had  seen  across  the  road  and 
for  whose  reappearance  he  had  been  watching  at  the  win 
dow,  standing  in  the  office  doorway.  He  looked  at  her  and 
she  looked  at  him.  He  was  embarrassed.  She  did  not  seem 
to  be. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said.      :*  Is  Mr.  Keeler  here?  " 

She  was  a  pretty  girl,  so  his  hasty  estimate  made  when  he 
had  first  sighted  her  was  correct.  Her  hair  was  dark,  so 
were  her  eyes,  and  her  cheeks  were  becomingly  colored  by 
the  chill  of  the  winter  air.  She  was  a  country  girl,  her  hat 
and  coat  proved  that;  not  that  they  were  in  bad  taste  or 
unbecoming,  but  they  were  simple  and  their  style  perhaps 
nearer  to  that  which  the  young  ladies  of  the  Misses  Brad- 
shaws'  seminary  had  worn  the  previous  winter.  All  this 
Albert  noticed  in  detail  later  on.  Just  then  the  particular 
point  which  attracted  his  embarrassed  attention  was  the 
look  in  the  dark  eyes.  They  seemed  to  have  almost  the 
same  disturbing  quality  which  he  had  noticed  in  his  grand 
father's  gray  ones.  Her  mouth  was  very  proper  and  grave, 
but  her  eyes  looked  as  if  she  were  laughing  at  him. 

Now  to  be  laughed  at  by  an  attractive  young  lady  is  dis- 


52  THE  PORTYGEE 

turbing  and  unpleasant.  It  is  particularly  so  when  the 
laughter  is  from  the  provinces  and  the  laughee  —  so  to 
speak  —  a  dignified  and  sophisticated  city  man.  Albert  sum 
moned  the  said  dignity  and  sophistication  to  his  rescue, 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette  and  said,  haughtily: 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  Is  Mr.  Keeler  here  ?  "  repeated  the  girl. 

"  No,  he  is  out." 

"Will  he  be  back  soon,  do  you  think?" 

Recollections  of  Mr.  Price's  recent  remark  concerning 
the  missing  bookkeeper's  '*  good  start "  came  to  Albert's 
mind  and  he  smiled,  slightly.  "  I  should  say  not,"  he  ob 
served,  with  delicate  irony. 

"Is  Issy  —  I  mean  Mr.  Price,  busy?" 

"  He's  out  in  the  yard  there  somewhere,  I  believe.  Would 
you  like  to  have  me  call  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  —  if  you  please  —  sir." 

The  "  sir  "  was  flattering,  if  it  was  sincere.  He  glanced 
at  her.  The  expression  of  the  mouth  was  as  grave  as  ever, 
but  he  was  still  uncertain  about  those  eyes.  However,  he 
was  disposed  to  give  her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  so,  stepping 
to  the  side  door  of  the  office  —  that  leading  to  the  yarojs  — 
he  opened  it  and  shouted :  "  Price !  .  .  .  Hey,  Price !  " 

There  was  no  answer,  although  he  could  hear  Issachar's 
voice  and  another  above  the  rattle  of  lath  bundles. 

"Price!"   he   shouted,   again.     "Pri-i-ce!" 

The  rattling  ceased.  Then,  in  the  middle  distance,  above 
a  pile  of  "  two  by  fours,"  appeared  Issachar's  head,  the 
features  agitated  and  the  forehead  bedewed  with  the  mois 
ture  of  honest  toil. 

"Huh?"  yelled  Issy.  "What's  the  matter?  Be  you 
hollerin'  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.     There's  some  one  here  wants  to  see  you." 

"Hey?" 

"  I  say  there's  some  one  here  who  wants  to  see  you." 

"What  for?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  find  out,  can't  ye?     I'm  busy." 


THE  PORTYGEE  53 

Was  that  a  laugh  which  Albert  heard  behind  him?  He 
turned  around,  but  the  young  lady's  face  wore  the  same 
grave,  even  demure,  expression. 

*'  What  do  you  want  to  see  him  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  wanted  to  buy  something." 

"  She  wants  to  buy  something,"  repeated  Albert,  shouting. 

"Hey?" 

"  She  wants  to  —  buy  —  something."  It  was  humiliat 
ing  to  have  to  scream  in  this  way. 

"Buy?     Buy  what?" 

*'  What  do  you  want  to  buy  ?  " 

"  A  hook,  that's  all.  A  hook  for  our  kitchen  door. 
Would  you  mind  asking  him  to  hurry?  I  haven't  much 
time." 

"  She  wants  a  hook." 

"  Eh  ?     We  don't  keep  books.     W:hat  kind  of  a  book  ?  " 

"Notbook  —  hook.  H-O-O-K!  Oh,  great  Scott !  Hook! 
hook!  Hook  for  a  door!  And  she  wants  you  to  hurry." 
.  "  Eh  ?  Well,  I  can't  hurry  now  for  nobody.  I  got  to 
load  these  laths  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Can't  you  wait 
on  him  ?  "  Evidently  the  customer's  sex  had  not  yet  been 
made  clear  to  the  Price  understanding.  "  You  can  get  a 
hook  for  him,  can't  ye?  You  know  where  they  be,  I  showed 
ye.  Ain't  forgot  so  soon,  'tain't  likely." 

The  head  disappeared  behind  the  "  two  by  fours."  Its 
face  was  red,  but  no  redder  than  Mr.  Speranza's  at  that 
moment. 

"  Fool  rube !  "  he  snorted,  disgustedly. 

"  Excuse  me,  but  you've  dropped  your  cigarette,"  observed 
the  young  lady. 

Albert  savagely  slammed  down  the  window  and  turned 
away.  The  dropped  cigarette  stump  lay  where  it  had  fallen, 
smudging  and  smelling. 

His  caller  looked  at  it  and  then  at  him. 

*'  I'd  pick  it  up,  if  I  were  you,"  she  said.  '*  Cap'n  Snow 
hates  cigarettes." 

Albert,  his  dignity  and  indignation  forgotten,  returned 
her  look  with  one  of  anxiety. 


54  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Does  he,  honest  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.     He  hates  them  worse  than  anything." 

The  cigarette  stump  was  hastily  picked  up  by  its  owner. 

"  Where'll  I  put  it?  "  he  asked,  hurriedly. 

"  Why  don't  you  —  Oh,  don't  put  it  in  your  pocket !  It 
will  set  you  on  fire.  Put  it  in  the  stove,  quick." 

Into  the  stove  it  went,  all  but  its  fragrance,  which  lin 
gered. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  find  me  that  hook  ?  "  asked  the 
girl. 

"  I'll  try.  7  don't  know  anything  about  the  confounded 
things." 

"Oh!"  innocently.     "Don't  you?" 

"  No,  of  course  I  don't.     Why  should  I?  " 

"  Aren't  you  working  here  ?  " 

"  Here  ?  Work  here?  Me?  Well,  I  —  should  —  say  — 
not  I" 

44  Oh,  excuse  me.  I  thought  you  must  be  a  new  book 
keeper,  or  —  or  a  new  partner,  or  something." 

Albert  regarded  her  intently  and  suspiciously  for  some 
seconds  before  making  another  remark.  She  was  as  de 
murely  grave  as  ever,  but  his  suspicions  were  again  aroused. 
However,  she  was  pretty,  there  could  be  no  doubt  about 
that. 

"  Maybe  I  can  find  the  hook  for  you,"  he  said.  "  I  can 
try,  anyway." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  ever  so  much,"  gratefully.  "  It's  very 
kind  of  you  to  take  so  much  trouble." 

"  Oh,"  airily,  "  that's  all  right.  Come  on ;  perhaps  we 
can  find  it  together." 

They  were  still  looking  when  Mr.  Price  came  panting  in. 

"  Whew !  "  he  observed,  with  emphasis.  "If  anybody 
tells  you  heavin'  bundles  of  laths  aboard  a  truck-wagon 
ain't  hard  work  you  tell  him  for  me  he's  a  liar,  will  ye. 
Whew!  And  I  had  to  do  the  heft  of  everything,  'cause 
Cahoon  sent  that  one-armed  nephew  of  his  to  drive  the  team. 
A  healthy  lot  of  good  a  one-armed  man  is  to  help  heave 
lumber !  I  says  to  him,  says  I :  *  What  in  time  did  — * 


THE  PORTYGEE  55 

Eh?  Why,  hello,  Helen!  Good  mornin'.  Land  sakes! 
you're  out  airly,  ain't  ye  ?  " 

The  young  lady  nodded.  "  Good  morning,  Issachar,"  she 
said.  "  Yes,  I  am  pretty  early  and  I'm  in  a  dreadful  hurry. 
The  wind  blew  our  kitchen  door  back  against  the  house  last 
night  and  broke  the  hook.  I  promised  Father  I  would  run 
over  here  and  get  him  a  new  one  and  bring  it  back  to  him 
before  I  went  to  school.  And  it's  quarter  to  nine  now." 

"  Land  sakes,  so  'tis !  Ain't  —  er  —  er  —  what's-his- 
name  —  Albert  here,  found  it  for  you  yet?  He  ain't  no 
kind  of  a  hand  to  find  things,  is  he  ?  We'll  have  to  larn  him 
better'n  that.  Yes  indeed !  " 

Albert  laughed,  sarcastically.  He  was  about  to  make  a 
satisfyingly  crushing  reproof  to  this  piece  of  impertinence 
when  Mr.  Price  began  to  sniff  the  air. 

"What  in  tunket?"  he  demanded.  "  Sn'f !  Sn'f ! 
Who's  been  smokin'  in  here?  And  cigarettes,  too,  by 
crimus !  Sn'f  !  Sn'f  !  Yes,  sir,  cigarettes,  by  cfimustee ! 
Who's  been  smokin'  cigarettes  in  here?  If  Cap'n  Lote 
knew  anybody'd  smoked  a  cigarette  in  here  I  don't  know's 
he  wouldn't  kill  'em.  Who  done  it?  " 

Albert  shivered.  The  girl  with  the  dark  blue  eyes  flashed 
a  quick  glance  at  him.  "  I  think  perhaps  someone  went 
by  the  window  when  it  was  open  just  now,"  she  suggested. 
'*  Perhaps  they  were  smoking  and  the  smoke  blew  in." 

**  Eh  ?  Well,  maybe  so.  Must  have  been  a  mighty  rank 
cigarette  to  smell  up  the  whole  premises  like  this  just  goin' 
past  a  window.  Whew!  Gosh!  no  wonder  they  say  them 
things  are  rank  pison.  I'd  sooner  smoke  skunk-cabbage 
myself;  'twouldn't  smell  no  worse  and  'twould  be  a  dum 
sight  safer.  Whew!  .  .  .  Well,  Helen,  there's  about  the 
kind  of  hook  I  cal'late  you  need.  Fifteen  cents  '11  let  you 
out  on  that.  Cheap  enough  for  half  the  money,  eh?  Give 
my  respects  to  your  pa,  will  ye.  Tell  him  that  sermon  he 
preached  last  Sunday  was  fine,  but  I'd  like  it  better  if  he'd 
laid  it  on  to  the  Univer'lists  a  little  harder.  Folks  that 
don't  believe  in  hell  don't  deserve  no  consideration,  'cordin' 
to  my  notion.  So  long,  Helen  .  .  .  Oh  say,"  he  added, 


56  THE  PORTYGEE 

as  an  afterthought,  "  I  guess  you  and  Albert  ain't  been  in 
troduced,  have  ye?  Albert,  this  is  Helen  Kendall,  she's 
our  Orthodox  minister's  daughter.  Helen,  this  young  feller 
is  Albert  —  er  —  er —  Consarn  it,  I've  asked  Cap'n  Lote 
that  name  a  dozen  times  if  I  have  once !  What  is  it,  any 
way?" 

"  Speranza,"  replied  the  owner  of  the  name. 

"  That's  it,  Sperandy.  This  is  Albert  Sperandy,  Cap'n 
Lote's  grandson." 

Albert  and  Miss  Kendall  shook  hands. 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  former,  gratefully  and  significantly. 

The  young  lady  smiled. 

"  Oh,  you're  welcome,"  she  said.  **  I  knew  who  you 
were  all  the  time  —  or  I  guessed  who  you  must  be.  Cap'n 
Snow  told  me  you  were  coming." 

She  went  out.  Issachar,  staring  after  her,  chuckled  ad 
miringly.  "  Smartest  girl  in  this  town,"  he  observed,  with 
emphasis.  "  Head  of  her  class  up  to  high  school  and  only 
sixteen  and  three-quarters  at  that." 

•Captain  Zelotes  came  bustling  in  a  few  minutes  later. 
He  went  to  his  desk,  paying  little  attention  to  his  grandson. 
The  latter  loitered  idly  up  and  down  the  office  and  hard 
ware  shop,  watching  Issachar  wait  on  customers  or  rush 
shouting  into  the  yard  to  attend  to  the  wants  of  others  there. 
Plainly  this  was  Issachar's  busy  day. 

"  Crimus !  "  he  exclaimed,  returning  from  one  such  ex 
cursion  and  mopping  his  forehead.  "  This  doin'  two  men's 
work  ain't  no  fun.  Every  time  Labe  goes  on  a  time  seem's 
if  trade  was  brisker'n  it's  been  for  a  month.  Seems  as  if 
all  creation  and  part  of  East  Harniss  had  been  hangin'  back 
waitin'  till  he  had  a  shade  on  'fore  they  come  to  trade. 
Makes  a  feller  feel  like  votin'  the  Prohibition  ticket.  I 
would  vote  it,  by  crimustee,  if  I  thought  'twould  do  any 
good.  'Twouldn't  though ;  Labe  would  take  to  drinkin'  bay 
rum  or  Florida  water  or  something  same  as  Hoppy  Rogers 
done  when  he  was  alive.  Jim  Young  says  he  went  into 
Hoppy's  barber-shop  once  and  there  was  Hoppy  with  a 
bottle  of  a  new  kind  of  hair-tonic  in  his  hand.  '  Drummer 


THE  PORTYGEE  57 

that  was  here  left  it  for  a  sample/  says  Hoppy.  '  Wanted 
me  to  try  it  and,  if  I  liked  it,  he  cal'lated  maybe  I'd  buy 
some.  I  don't  think  I  shall,  though,'  he  says ;  '  don't  taste 
right  to  me.'  Yes,  sir,  Jim  Young  swears  that's  true. 
Wan't  enough  snake-killer  in  that  hair  tonic  to  suit  Hoppy. 
I  —  Yes,  Cap'n  Lote,  what  is  it  ?  Want  me,  do  ye  ?  ': 

But  the  captain  did  not,  as  it  happened,  want  Mr.  Price 
at  that  time.  It  was  Albert  whose  name  he  had  called.  The 
boy  went  into  the  office  and  his  grandfather  rose  and  shut 
the  door. 

44  Sit  down,  Al,"  he  said,  motioning  toward  a  chair.  When 
his  grandson  had  seated  himself  Captain  Zelotes  tilted  back 
his  own  desk  chair  upon  its  springs  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Well,  son,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"  Think  of  it  ?     I  don't  know  exactly  what  — " 

"Of  the  place  here.  Shop,  yards,  the  whole  business. 
Z.  Snow  and  Company  —  what  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

Privately  Albert  was  inclined  to  classify  the  entire  out 
fit  as  one-horse  and  countrified,  but  he  deemed  it  wiser  not 
to  express  this  opinion.  So  he  compromised  and  replied 
that  it  "  seemed  to  be  all  right." 

His  grandfather  nodded.  "  Thanks,"  he  observed,  dryly. 
"  Glad  you  find  it  that  way.  Well,  then,  changin'  the  sub 
ject  for  a  minute  or  two,  what  do  you  think  about  yourself  ?  " 

44  About  myself?    About  me?     I  don't  understand?" 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  do.  That's  what  I  got  you 
over  here  this  mornin'  for,  so  as  we  could  understand  — 
you  and  me.  Al,  have  you  given  any  thought  to  what 
you're  goin'  to  do  from  this  on  ?  How  you're  goin'  to  live  ?  " 

Albert  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly. 

<4  How  I'm  going  to  live  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Why  —  why, 
I  thought  —  I  supposed  I  was  going  to  live  with  you  —  with 
you  and  Grandmother." 

"  Um-hm,  I  see." 

4<  I  just  kind  of  took  that  for  granted,  I  guess.  You  sent 
for  me  to  come  here.  You  took  me  away  from  school,  you 
know." 


58  THE  PORTYGEE 

'*  Yes,  so  I  did.     You  know  why  I  took  you  from  school?  " 

"  No,  I  —  I  guess  I  don't,  exactly.  I  thought  —  I  sup 
posed  it  was  because  you  didn't  want  me  to  go  there  any 
more." 

*'  'Twasn't  that.  I  don't  know  whether  I  would  have 
wanted  you  to  go  there  or  not  if  things  had  been  different. 
From  what  I  hear  it  was  a  pretty  extravagant  place,  and 
lookin'  at  it  from  the  outside  without  knowin'  too  much 
about  it,  I  should  say  it  was  liable  to  put  a  lot  of  foolish 
and  expensive  notions  into  a  boy's  head.  I  may  be  wrong, 
of  course;  I  have  been  wrong  at  least  a  few  times  in  my 
life." 

It  was  evident  that  he  considered  the  chances  of  his  be 
ing  wrong  in  this  instance  very  remote.  His  tone  again 
aroused  in  the  youth  the  feeling  of  obstinacy,  of  rebellion, 
of  desire  to  take  the  other  side. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  schools  in  this  country,"  he  declared. 
"  My  father  said  so." 

Captain  Zelotes  picked  up  a  pencil  on  his  desk  and  tapped 
his  chin  lightly  with  the  blunt  end.  "  Um,"  he  mused. 
"  Well,  I  presume  likely  he  knew  all  about  it." 

"  He  knew  as  much  as  —  most  people,"  with  a  slight  but 
significant  hesitation  before  the  "  most." 

"  Um-hm.  Naturally,  havin'  been  schooled  there  him 
self,  I  suppose." 

"  He  wasn't  schooled  there.  My  father  was  a  Span 
iard." 

"  So  I've  heard.  .  .  .  Well,  we're  kind  of  off  the  sub 
ject,  ain't  we?  Let's  leave  your  father's  nationality  out  of 
it  for  a  while.  And  we'll  leave  the  school,  too,  because  no 
matter  if  it  was  the  best  one  on  earth  you  couldn't  go  there. 
I  shouldn't  feel  'twas  right  to  spend  as  much  money  as  that 
at  any  school,  and  you  —  well,  son,  you  ain't  got  it  to  spend. 
Did  you  have  any  idea  what  your  father  left  you,  in  the 
way  of  tangible  assets?  " 

"  No.  I  knew  he  had  plenty  of  money  always.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  famous  singers  in  this  country." 

"  Maybe  so." 


THE  PORTYGEE  S9 

'*  It  was  so,"  hotly.  *'  And  he  was  paid  enough  in  one 
week  to  buy  this  whole  town  —  or  almost.  Why,  my 
father—" 

"Sshh!     Sssh!" 

"  No,  I'm  not  going  to  hush.  I'm  proud  of  my  father. 
He  was  a  —  a  great  man.  And  —  and  Fm  not  going  to 
stand  here  and  have  you  — " 

Between  indignation  and  emotion  he  choked  and  could 
not  finish  the  sentence.  The  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

"  Fm  not  going  to  have  you  or  anyone  else  talk  about  him 
that  way,"  he  concluded,  fiercely. 

His  grandfather  regarded  him  with  a  steady,  but  not  at 
all  unkindly,  gaze. 

'*  I  ain't  runnin'  down  your  father,  Albert,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  you  are.  You  hated  him.  Anybody  could  see  you 
hated  him." 

The  captain  slowly  rapped  the  desk  with  the  pencil.  He 
did  not  answer  at  once. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  I  don't  know  as  I  ought 
to  deny  that.  I  don't  know  as  I  can  deny  it  and  be  honest. 
Years  ago  he  took  away  from  me  what  amounted  to  three- 
quarters  of  everything  that  made  my  life  worth  while. 
Some  day  you'll  know  more  about  it  than  you  do  now,  and 
maybe  you'll  understand  my  p'int  of  view  better.  No,  I 
didn't  like  your  father  —  Eh  ?  What  was  you  sayin'  ?  " 

Albert,  who  had  muttered  something,  was  rather  confused. 
However,  he  did  not  attempt  to  equivocate.  "  I  said  I 
guessed  that  didn't  make  much  difference  to  Father,"  he 
answered,  sullenly. 

"  I  presume  likely  it  didn't.  But  we  won't  go  into  that 
question  now.  What  I'm  tryin'  to  get  at  in  this  talk  we're 
having  is  you  and  your  future.  Now  you  can't  go  back  to 
school  because  you  can't  afford  it.  All  your  father  left  when 
he  died  was  —  this  is  the  honest  truth  I'm  tellin'  you  now, 
and  if  I'm  puttin'  it  pretty  blunt  it's  because  I  always  think 
it's  best  to  get  a  bad  mess  out  of  the  way  in  a  hurry  —  all 
your  father  left  was  debts.  He  didn't  leave  money  eneugh 
to  bury  him,  hardly." 


6o  THE  PORTYGEE 

The  boy  stared  at  him  aghast.  His  grandfather,  lean 
ing  a  little  toward  him,  would  have  put  a  hand  on  his  knee, 
but  the  knee  was  jerked  out  of  the  way. 

"  There,  that's  over,  Al,"  went  on  Captain  Zelotes.  "  You 
know  the  worst  now  and  you  can  say,  '  What  of  it  ? '  I 
mean  just  that :  What  of  it?  Bern'  left  without  a  cent,  but 
with  your  health  and  a  fair  chance  to  make  good  —  that,  at 
seventeen  or  eighteen  ain't  a  bad  lookout,  by  any  manner 
of  means.  It's  the  outlook  /  had  at  fifteen  —  exceptin'  the 
chance  —  and  I  ain't  asked  many  favors  of  anybody  since. 
At  your  age,  or  a  month  or  two  older,  do  you  know  where 
I  was?  I  was  first  mate  of  a  three-masted  schooner.  At 
twenty  I  was  skipper;  and  at  twenty-five,  by  the  Almighty, 
I  owned  a  chare  in  her.  Al,  all  you  need  now  is  a  chance 
to  go  to  work.  And  I'm  goin'  to  give  you  that  chance." 

Albert  gasped.  "  Do  you  mean  —  do  you  mean  I've  got 
to  be  a  —  a  sailor  ?  "  he  stammered. 

Captain  Zelotes  put  back  his  head  and  laughed,  laughed 
aloud. 

*'  A  sailor !  "  he  repeated.  "  Ho,  ho !  No  wonder  you 
looked  scared.  No,  I  wan't  cal'latin'  to  make  a  sailor  out 
of  you,  son.  For  one  reason,  sailorin'  ain't  what  it  used 
to  be ;  and,  for  another,  I  have  my  doubts  whether  a  young 
feller  of  your  bringin'  up  would  make  much  of  a  go  handlin' 
a  bunch  of  fo'mast  hands  the  first  day  out.  No,  I  wasn't 
figgerin*  to  send  you  to  sea  .  .  .  W^hat  do  you  suppose 
I  brought  you  down  to  this  place  for  this  mornin'  ?  " 

And  then  Albert  understood.  He  knew  why  he  had  been 
conducted  through  the  lumber  yards,  about  the  hardware 
shop,  why  his  grandfather  and  Mr.  Price  had  taken  so  much 
pains  to  exhibit  and  explain.  His  heart  sank. 

*'  I  brought  you  down  here,"  continued  the  captain,  "  be 
cause  it's  a  first-rate  idea  to  look  a  vessel  over  afore  you  ship 
aboard  her.  It's  kind  of  late  to  back  out  after  you  have 
shipped.  Ever  since  I  made  up  my  mind  to  send  for  you 
and  have  you  live  along  with  your  grandmother  and  me 
I've  been  plannin'  what  to  do  with  you.  I  knew,  if  you 
was  a  decent,  ambitious  young  chap,  you'd  want  to  do  some- 


THE  PORTYGEE  61 

thin'  towards  makin'  a  start  in  life.  We  can  use  —  that  is, 
this  business  can  use  that  kind  of  a  chap  right  now.  He 
could  larn  to  keep  books  and  know  lumber  and  hardware 
and  how  to  sell  and  how  to  buy.  He  can  larn  the  whole 
thing.  There's  a  chance  here,  son.  It's  your  chance;  I'm 
givin'  it  to  you.  How  big  a  chance  it  turns  out  to  be  '11 
depend  on  you,  yourself." 

He  stopped.  Albert  was  silent.  His  thoughts  were  con 
fused,  but  out  of  their  dismayed  confusion  two  or  three 
fixed  ideas  reared  themselves  like  crags  from  a  whirlpool. 
He  was  to  live  in  South  Harniss  always  —  always ;  he  was 
to  keep  books  —  Heavens,  how  he  hated  mathematics,  de 
tail  work  of  any  kind !  —  for  drunken  old  Keeler ;  he  was 
to  "  heave  lumber "  with  Issy  Price.  He  —  Oh,  it  was 
dreadful!  It  was  horrible.  He  couldn't!  He  wouldn't! 
Ht  — 

Captain  Zelotes  had  been  watching  him,  his  heavy  brows 
drawing  closer  together  as  the  boy  delayed  answering. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  asked,  for  another  minute.  "  Did  you  hear 
what  I  said?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Understood,  did  you  ?  " 

"Yes  — sir." 

"Well?" 

Albert  was  clutching  at  straws.  "  I  —  I  don't  know  how 
to  keep  books,"  he  faltered. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  you  did.  Don't  imagine  they  teach 
anything  as  practical  as  bookkeepin'  up  at  that  school  of 
yours.  But  you  can  larn,  can't  you?" 

"I  — I  guess  so." 

'*  I  guess  so,  too.  Good  Lord,  I  hope  so !  Humph  1 
You  don't  seem  to  be  jumpin'  for  joy  over  the  prospect. 
There's  a  half  dozen  smart  young  fellers  here  in  South 
Harniss  that  would,  I  tell  you  that." 

Albert  devoutly  wished  they  had  jumped  —  and  landed  — 
before  his  arrival.  His  grandfather's  tone  grew  more 
brusque. 

"Don't  you  want  to  work?"  he  demoded. 


62  THE  PORTYGEE 

"Why,  yes,  I  —  I  suppose  I  do.  I  —  I  hadn't  thought 
much  about  it." 

"  Humph !  Then  I  think  it's  time  you  begun.  Hadn't 
you  had  any  notion  of  what  you  wanted  to  do  when  you 
got  out  of  that  school  of  yours?" 

"  I  was  going  to  college." 

"  Humph !  .  .  .  Yes,  I  presume  likely.  Well,  after  you 
got  out  of  college,  what  was  you  plannin'  to  do  then?  " 

a  I  wasn't  sure.  I  thought  I  might  do  something  with 
my  music.  I  can  play  a  little.  I  can't  sing  — that  is,  not 
well  enough.  If  I  could,"  wistfully,  "  I  should  have  liked 
to  be  in  opera,  as  father  was,  of  course." 

Captain  Zelotes'  only  comment  was  a  sniff  or  snort,  or 
combination  of  both.  Albert  went  on. 

"  I  had  thought  of  writing  —  writing  books  and  poems, 
you  know.  I've  written  quite  a  good  deal  for  the  school 
magazine.  And  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  an  actor,  per 
haps.  I  — " 

'*  Good  God !  "  His  grandfather's  fist  came  down  upon 
the  desk  before  him.  Slowly  he  shook  his  head. 

"A  —  a  poetry  writer  and  an  actor ! "  he  repeated. 
"  Whew !  .  .  .  Well,  there !  Perhaps  maybe  we  hadn't  bet 
ter  talk  any  more  just  now.  You  can  have  the  rest  of  the 
day  to  run  around  town  and  sort  of  get  acquainted,  if  you 
want  to.  Then  to-morrow  mornin'  you  and  I'll  come  over 
here  together  and  we'll  begin  to  break  you  in.  I  shouldn't 
wonder,"  he  added,  dryly,  "  if  you  found  it  kind  of  dull  at 
first  —  compared  to  that  school  and  poetry  makin'  and 
such  —  but  it'll  be  respectable  and  it'll  pay  for  board  and 
clothes  and  somethin'  to  eat  once  in  a  while,  which  may  not 
seem  so  important  to  you  now  as  'twill  later  on.  And 
some  day  I  cal'late  —  anyhow  we'll  hope  —  you'll  be  mighty 
glad  you  did  it." 

Poor  Albert  looked  and  felt  anything  but  glad  just  then. 
Captain  Zelotes,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  regarding 
him.  He,  too,  did  not  look  particularly  happy. 

"  You'll  remember,"  he  observed,  "  or  perhaps  you  don't 
know,  that  when  your  father  asked  us  to  look  out  for  you  — " 


THE  PORTYGEE  63 

Albert  interrupted.  "  Did  —  did  father  ask  you  to  take 
care  of  me  ?  "  he  cried,  in  surprise. 

"  Um-nm.  He  asked  somebody  who  was  with  him  to  ask 
us  to  do  just  that." 

The  boy  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Well,  then,"  he  said, 
hopelessly,  "I'll —  I'll  try." 

"  Thanks.  Now  you  run  around  town  and  see  the  sights. 
Dinner's  at  half  past  twelve  prompt,  so  be  on  hand  for  that." 

After  his  grandson  had  gone,  the  captain,  hands  still  in 
his  pockets,  stood  for  some  time  looking  out  of  the  win 
dow.  At  length  he  spoke  aloud. 

"  A  play  actor  or  a  poetry  writer !  "  he  exclaimed.  *'  Tut, 
tut,  tut !  No  use  talkin',  blood  will  tell !  " 

Issachar,  who  was  putting  coal  on  the  office  fire,  turned 
his  head. 

"Eh?  "he  queried. 

"  Nothing"  said  Captain  Lote. 

He  would  have  been  surprised  if  he  could  have  seen  his 
grandson  just  at  that  moment.  Albert,  on  the  beach  whither 
he  had  strayed  in  his  desire  to  be  alone,  safely  hidden  from 
observation  behind  a  sand  dune,  was  lying  with  his  head 
upon  his  arms  and  sobbing  bitterly. 

A  disinterested  person  might  have  decided  that  the  in 
terview  which  had  just  taken  place  and  which  Captain 
Zelotes  hopefully  told  his  wife  that  morning  would  probably 
result  in  *'  a  clear,  comf 'table  understandin'  between  the 
boy  and  me  "  —  such  a  disinterested  person  might  have  de 
cided  that  it  had  resulted  in  exactly  the  opposite.  In  cal 
culating  the  results  to  be  obtained  from  that  interview  the 
captain  had  not  taken  into  consideration  two  elements,  one 
his  own  and  the  other  his  grandson's.  These  elements  were 
prejudice  and  temperament. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  next  morning,  with  much  the  same  feeling  that 
a  convict  must  experience  when  he  enters  upon  a 
life  imprisonment,  Albert  entered  the  employ  of 
"Z.  Snow  and  Co.,  Lumber  and  Builders'  Hardware." 
The  day,  he  would  have  sworn  it,  was  at  least  a  year  long. 
The  interval  between  breakfast  and  dinner  was  quite  six 
months,  yet  the  dinner  hour  itself  was  the  shortest  sixty 
minutes  he  had  ever  known.  Mr.  Keeler  had  not  yet  re 
turned  to  his  labors,  so  there  was  no  instruction  in  book 
keeping;  but  his  grandfather  gave  him  letters  to  file  and 
long  dreary  columns  of  invoice  figures  to  add.  Twice  Cap 
tain  Zelotes  went  out  and  then,  just  as  Albert  settled  back 
for  a  rest  and  breathing  spell,  Issachar  Price  appeared, 
warned  apparently  by  some  sort  of  devilish  intuition,  and 
invented  "  checking  up  stock  "  and  similar  menial  and  tire 
some  tasks  to  keep  him  uncomfortable  till  the  captain  re 
turned.  The  customers  who  came  in  asked  questions  con 
cerning  him  and  he  was  introduced  to  at  least  a  dozen  citi 
zens  of  South  Harniss,  who  observed  "  Sho !  "  and  "  I  want 
to  know !  "  when  told  his  identity  and,  in  some  instances,  ad 
dressed  him  as  "  Bub,"  which  was  of  itself  a  crime  deserv 
ing  capital  punishment. 

That  night,  as  he  lay  in  bed  in  the  back  bedroom,  he  fell 
asleep  facing  the  dreary  prospect  of  another  monotonous 
imprisonment  the  following  day,  and  the  next  day,  and 
the  day  after  that,  and  after  that  —  and  after  that  —  and 
so  on  —  and  on  —  and  on  —  forever  and  ever,  as  long  as 
life  should  last.  This,  then,  was  to  be  the  end  of  all  his 
dreams,  this  drudgery  in  a  country  town  among  these  com 
monplace  country  people.  This  was  the  end  of  his  dreams 
of  some  day  writing  deathless  odes  and  sonnets  or  thrilling 
romances;  of  treading  the  boards  as  the  hero  of  romantic 

64 


THE  PORTYGEE  65- 

drama  while  star-eyed  daughters  of  multi-millionaires  gazed 
from  the  boxes  in  spellbound  rapture.  This  .  .  .  The 
thought  of  the  star-eyed  ones  reminded  him  of  the  girl  who 
had  come  into  the  office  the  afternoon  of  his  first  visit  to 
that  torture  chamber.  He  had  thought  of  her  many  times 
since  their  meeting  and  always  with  humiliation  and  resent 
ment.  It  was  his  own  foolish  tongue  which  had  brought 
the  humiliation  upon  him.  When  she  had  suggested  that 
he  might  be  employed  by  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  he  had  replied : 
"Me?  Work  here!  Well,  I  should  say  not!"  And  all 
the  time  she,  knowing  who  he  was,  must  have  known  he 
was  doomed  to  work  there.  He  resented  that  superior 
knowledge  of  hers.  He  had  made  a  fool  of  himself  but  she 
was  to  blame  for  it.  Well,  by  George,  he  would  not  work 
there!  He  would  run  away,  he  would  show  her,  and  his 
grandfather  and  all  the  rest  what  was  what.  Night  after 
night  he  fell  asleep  vowing  to  run  away,  to  do  all  sorts  of 
desperate  deeds,  and  morning  after  morning  he  went  back  to 
that  office. 

On  the  fourth  morning  the  prodigal  came  home,  the  stray 
lamb  returned  to  the  fold  —  Mr,  Keeler  returned  to  his 
desk  and  his  duties.  There  was  a  premonition  of  his  re 
turn  at  the  Snow  breakfast  table.  For  three  days  Mrs. 
Ellis  had  swathed  her  head  in  white  and  her  soul  in  black. 
For  three  days  her  favorite  accompaniment  to  conversation 
had  been  a  groan  or  a  sigh.  Now,  on  this  fourth  morning, 
she  appeared  without  the  bandage  on  her  brow  or  the  crape 
upon  her  spirit.  She  was  not  hilarious  but  she  did  not 
groan  once,  and  twice  during  the  meal  she  actually  smiled. 
Captain  Lote  commented  upon  the  change,  she  being  absent 
from  table  momentarily. 

*'  Whew !  "  he  observed,  in  an  undertone,  addressing  his 
wife.  "  If  it  ain't  a  comfort  to  see  the  wrinkles  on  Rachel's 
face  curvin'  up  instead  of  down.  I'm  scared  to  death  that 
she'll  go  out  some  time  in  a  cold  spell  when  she's  havin' 
one  of  them  sympathetics  of  hers,  and  her  face'll  freeze 
that  way.  Well,  Albert,"  turning  to  his  grandson,  '*  the 
colors  '11  be  h'isted  to  the  truck  now  instead  of  half-mast  and 


66  THE  PORTYGEE 

life'll  be  somethin'  besides  one  everlastin'  '  last  look  at  the 
remains.'  Now  we  can  take  off  the  mournin'  till  the  next 
funeral." 

"  Yes,"  said  Olive,  "  and  Laban'll  be  back,  too.  I'm  sure 
you  must  have  missed  him  awfully,  Zelotes." 

"  Missed  him !  I  should  say  so.  For  one  thing,  I  miss 
havin'  him  between  me  and  Issy.  When  Labe's  there  Is- 
talks  to  him  and  Labe  keeps  on  thinkin'  of  somethin'  else 
and  so  it  don't  worry  him  any.  I  can't  do  that,  and  my 
eardrums  get  to  wearin*  thin  and  that  makes  me  nervous. 
Maybe  you've  noticed  that  Issy's  flow  of  conversation  ain't 
what  you'd  call  a  trickle,"  he  added,  turning  to  Albert. 

Albert  had  noticed  it.  "  But,"  he  asked,  *'  what  makes 
Rachel  —  Mrs.  Ellis  —  so  cheerful  this  morning  ?  Does  she 
know  that  Mr.  Keeler  will  be  back  at  work  ?  How  does  she 
know  ?  She  hasn't  seen  him,  has  she  ?  " 

'*  No,"  replied  the  captain.  "  She  ain't  seen  him.  No 
body  sees  him,  far's  that  goes.  He  generally  clears  out 
somewheres  and  locks  himself  up  in  a  room,  I  judge,  till 
his  vacation's  over.  I  suppose  that's  one  way  to  have  fun, 
but  it  ain't  what  I'd  call  hilarious." 

"  Don't,  Zelotes,"  said  Mrs.  Snow.  "  I  do  wish  you 
wouldn't  call  it  fun." 

"  I  don't,  but  Laban  seems  to.  If  he  don't  do  it  for  fun 
I  don't  know  what  he  does  it  for.  Maybe  it's  from  a  sense 
of  duty.  It  ain't  to  oblige  me,  I  know  that." 

Albert  repeated  his  question.  "  But  how  does  she  know 
he  will  be  back  to-day  ?  "  he  asked. 

His  grandmother  shook  her  head.  "  That's  the  mysteri 
ous  part  about  it,"  she  whispered.  *'  It  makes  a  person 
think  there  may  be  somethin'  in  the  sympathetic  notion  she 
talks  so  much  about.  She  don't  see  him  at  all  and  yet  we 
can  always  tell  when  he's  comin'  k.  Jt  to  work  by  her  spirits. 
If  he  ain't  back  to-day  he  will  be  to-morrow,  you'll  see.  She 
never  misses  by  more  than  a  day.  /  think  it's  real  sort  of 
mysterious,  but  Zelotes  laughs  at  me." 

Captain  Lote's  lip  twitched.  "  Yes,  Mother,"  he  said, 
"  it's  about  as  mysterious  as  the  clock's  strikin'  twelve  when 


THE  PORTYGEE  67 

it's  noon.  /  know  it's  morally  sartin  that  Labe'll  be  back 
aboard  to-day  or  to-morrow  because  his  sprees  don't  ever 
last  more  than  five  days.  I  can't  swear  to  how  she  knows, 
but  that's  how  /  know  —  and  I'm  darned  sure  there's  no 
'  sympathy '  about  my  part."  Then,  as  if  realizing  that  he 
had  talked  more  than  usual,  he  called,  brusquely :  "  Come 
on,  Al,  come  on.  Time  we  were  on  the  job,  boy." 

Sure  enough,  as  they  passed  the  window  of  the  office, 
there,  seated  on  the  stool  behind  the  tall  desk,  Albert  saw 
the  diminutive  figure  of  the  man  who  had  been  his  driver 
on  the  night  of  his  arrival.  He  was  curious  to  see  how 
the  delinquent  would  apologize  for  or  explain  his  absence. 
But  Mr.  Keeier  did  neither,  ncr  did  Captain  Snow  ask  a 
question.  Instead  the  pair  greeted  each  other  as  if  they  had 
parted  in  that  office  at  the  close  of  business  on  the  previous 
day. 

"  Mornin',  Cap'n  Lote,"  said  Laban,  quietly. 

'*  Mornin',  Labe,"  replied  the  captain,  just  as  calmly. 

He  went  on  and  opened  his  own  desk,  leaving  his  grand 
son  standing  by  the  door,  not  knowing  whether  to  speak 
or  offer  to  shake  hands.  The  situation  was  a  little  difficult, 
particularly  as  Mr.  Keeier  gave  no  sign  of  recognition,  but, 
after  a  glance  at  his  employer's  companion,  went  on  mak 
ing  entries  in  the  ledger. 

Captain  Zelotes  looked  up  a  moment  later.  His  gray 
eyes  inspected  the  pair  and  the  expression  on  Albert's  face 
caused  them  to  twinkle  slightly.  "  Labe,"  he  said,  "  this 
is  my  grandson,  Albert,  the  one  I  told  you  was  comin'  to 
live  with  us." 

Laban  turned  on  the  stool,  regarded  Albert  over  his 
spectacles,  and  extended  a  hand. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  yes  .  .  .  Yes, 
yes,  yes  .  .  .  Pleased  to  meet  you.  Cap'n  Lote  said  you 
was  comin' —  er  —  er  —  Alfred.  Howdy  do." 

They  shook  hands.  Mr.  Keeler's  hand  trembled  a  little, 
but  that  was  the  only  symptom  of  his  recent  "  vacation  " 
which  the  youth  could  notice.  Certain  vivid  remembrances 
of  his  father's  bad  humor  on  mornings  following  convivial 


68  THE  PORTYGEE 

evenings  recurred  to  him.  Was  it  possible  that  this  odd, 
precise,  dried-up  little  man  had  been  on  a  spree  for  four 
days?  It  did  not  seem  possible.  He  looked  more  as  if  he 
might  be  expected  to  rap  on  the  desk  and  ask  the  school  to 
come  to  order. 

*'  Albert's  goin'  to  take  hold  here  with  us  in  the  office," 
went  on  Captain  Lote.  "  You'll  remember  I  spoke  to  you 
about  that  when  we  talked  about  his  comin'.  Al,  Labe  — 
Mr.  Keeler  here  —  will  start  you  in  larnin'  to  bookkeep. 
He'll  be  your  first  mate  from  now  on.  Don't  forget  you're 
a  fo'mast  hand  yet  awhile  and  the  way  for  a  fo'mast  hand 
to  get  ahead  is  to  obey  orders.  And  don't,"  he  added, 
with  a  quiet  chuckle,  '*  do  any  play-actin'  or  poetry-makin' 
when  it's  your  watch  on  deck.  Laban  nor  I  ain't  very 
strong  for  play-actin',  are  we,  Labe  ?  " 

Laban,  to  whom  the  reference  was  anything  but  clear,  re 
plied  rather  vaguely  that  he  didn't  know  as  he  was,  very, 
Albert's  temper  flared  up  again.  His  grandfather  was 
sneering  at  him  once  more ;  he  was  always  sneering  at  him. 
All  right,  let  him  sneer  —  now.  Some  day  he  would  be 
shown.  He  scowled  and  turned  away.  And  Captain 
Zelotes,  noticing  the  scowl,  was  reminded  of  a  scowl  he  had 
seen  upon  the  face  of  a  Spanish  opera  singer  some  twenty 
years  before.  He  did  not  like  to  be  reminded  of  that  man. 

He  went  out  soon  afterward  and  then  Laban,  turning 
to  Albert,  asked  a  few  questions. 

"  How  do  you  think  you're  goin'  to  like  South  Harniss, 
Ansel?"  he  asked. 

Albert  was  tempted  to  reply  that  he,  Keeler,  had  asked 
him  that  very  question  before,  but  he  thought  it  best  not 
to  do  so. 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  he  answered,  carelessly.  "  Well 
enough,  I  guess." 

"  You'll  like  it  fust-rate  bimeby.  Everybody  does  when 
they  get  used  to  it.  Takes  some  time  to  get  used  to  a  place, 
don't  you  know  it  does,  Ansel  ?  " 

'•  My  name  is  Albert." 

"Eh?    Yes,  yes,  so  'tis.     Yes,  yes,  yes.     I  don't  know 


THE  PORTYGEE  69 

why  1  called  you  Ansel,  'less  'twas  on  account  of  my  knowin' 
an  Ansel  Olsen  once  .  .  .  Hum  .  .  .  Yes,  yes.  Well, 
you'll  like  South  Harniss  when  you  get  used  to  it." 

The  boy  did  not  answer.  He  was  of  the  opinion  that  he 
should  die  long  before  the  getting  used  process  was  com 
pleted.  Mr.  Keeler  continued. 

*'  Come  on  yesterday's  train,  did  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

Albert  looked  at  him.  Was  the  fellow  joking?  He  did 
not  look  as  if  he  was. 

"  Why  no,"  he  replied.  *'  I  came  last  Monday  night. 
Don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  yes  .  .  .  Last  Mon 
day  night  you  come,  eh  ?  On  the  night  train,  eh  ?  "  He 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  asked.  "  Cap'n  Lote  fetch  you 
down  from  the  depot  ?  " 

Albert  stared  at  him  open-mouthed. 

*'  Why,  no !  "  he  retorted.  "  You  drove  me  down  your 
self." 

For  the  first  time  a  slight  shade  of  embarrassment  crossed 
the  bookkeeper's  features.  He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Yes,'*  he  mused.  "  Yes,  yes,  yes.  I  kind  of  thought 
I  —  yes,  yes, — I  —  I  thought  likely  I  did  .  .  .  Yes,  yes, 
course  I  did,  course  I  did.  Well,  now  maybe  we'd  better 
be  startin'  you  in  to  work  —  er  —  Augustus.  Know  any 
thing  about  double-entry,  do  you  ?  " 

Albert  did  not,  nor  had  he  the  slightest  desire  to  learn. 
But  before  the  first  hour  was  over  he  foresaw  that  he  was 
destined  to  learn,  if  he  remained  in  that  office,  whether  he 
wanted  to  or  not.  Laban  Keeler  might  be,  and  evidently 
was,  peculiar  in  his  ways,  but  as  u  bookkeeper  he  was 
thoroughness  personified.  And  as  a  teacher  of  his  profes 
sion  he  was  just  as  thorough.  All  that  forenoon  Albert 
practiced  the  first  principles  of  "  double  entry  "  and,  after 
the  blessed  hour  for  dinner,  came  back  to  practice  the  re 
mainder  of  the  working  day. 

And  so  for  many  days.  Little  by  little  he  learned  to  in 
voice  and  journalize  and  "  post  in  the  ledger  "  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  detail  of  bookkeeping.  Not  that  his  instructor 


70  THE  PORTYGEE 

permitted  him  to  do  a  great  deal  of  actual  work  upon  the 
books  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  Those  books  were  too  spotless 
and  precious  for  that.  Looking  over  them  Albert  was  sur 
prised  ajid  obliged  to  admit  a  grudging  admiration  at  the 
manner  in  which,  for  the  most  part,  they  had  been  kept. 
Page  aftei  page  of  the  neatest  of  minute  figures,  not  a  blot, 
not  a  blur,  not  an  erasure.  So  for  months;  then,  in  the 
minor  books,  like  the  day-book  or  journal,  would  suddenly 
break  out  an  eruption  of  smudges  and  scrawls  in  the  rugged 
handwriting  of  Captain  Zelotes.  When  he  first  happened 
upon  one  of  these  Albert  unthinkingly  spoke  to  Mr.  Keeler 
about  it.  He  asked  the  latter  what  it  meant. 

Laban  slowly  stroked  his  nose  with  his  thumb  and  fin 
ger,  a  habit  he  had. 

"  I  cal'late  I  was  away  for  a  spell  then,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"  Yes,  yes  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  yes.  I  was  away  for  a  little 
spell." 

He  went  soberly  back  to  his  desk.  His  new  assistant, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  felt  a  pang  of  real  pity 
for  the  little  man.  Of  course  the  reason  for  the  hiatus 
in  the  books  was  plain  enough.  He  knew  about  those 
"  little  spells."  Oddly  enough  Laban  seemed  to  feel  sorry 
for  them.  He  remembered  how  funny  the  bookkeeper  had 
appeared  at  their  first  meeting,  when  one  "  spell "  was  just 
developing,  and  the  contrast  between  the  singing,  chirruping 
clown  and  the  precise,  grave  little  person  at  the  desk  struck 
even  his  youthful  mind  as  peculiar.  He  had  read  "  Doctor 
Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde,"  and  now  here  was  an  example  of 
something  similar.  He  was  beginning  to  like  Laban  Keeler, 
although  lie  was  perfectly  sure  that  he  should  never  like 
bookkeeping. 

He  did  not  slave  at  the  books  all  the  time,  of  course.  For 
stretches,  sometimes  lasting  whole  days,  his  slavery  was  of 
another  sort.  Then  he  was  working  in  the  lumber  yard 
with  Issachar,  or  waiting  on  customers  in  the  hardware 
shop.  The  cold  of  winter  set  in  in  earnest  now  and  handling 
"  two  by  fours  "  and  other  timber  out  where  the  raw  winds 
swept  piercingly  through  one's  overcoat  and  garments  and 


THE  PORTYGEE  71 

flesh  to  the  very  bone  was  a  trying  experience.  His  hands 
were  chapped  and  cracked,  even  though  his  grandmother 
had  knit  him  a  pair  of  enormous  red  mittens.  He  appre 
ciated  the  warmth  of  the  mittens,  but  he  hated  the  color. 
Why  in  the  name  of  all  that  was  inartistic  did  she  choose 
red;  not  a  deep,  rich  crimson,  but  a  screeching  vermilion, 
like  a  fireman's  shirt? 

Issachar,  when  he  had  the  opportunity,  was  a  hard  boss. 
It  suited  Mr.  Price  to  display  his  superior  knowledge  and 
to  find  fault  with  his  helper's  lack  of  skill.  Albert's  hot 
temper  was  at  the  boiling  point  many  times,  but  he  fought 
it  down.  Occasionally  he  retorted  in  kind,  but  his  usual 
and  most  effective  weapon  was  a  more  or  less  delicate 
sarcasm.  Issachar  did  not  understand  sarcasm  and  under 
rapid  fire  he  was  inclined  to  lose  his  head. 

"  Consarn  it  I  "  he  snapped,  irritably,  on  one  occasion. 
"  Consarn  it,  Al,  why  don't  you  h'ist  up  on  t'other  end  of 
that  j'ist?  What  do  you  cal'late  you're  out  here  along  of 
me  for;  to  look  harnsome?" 

Albert  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Is,"  he  answered,  gravely. 
"  No,  that  wouldn't  be  any  use.  With  you  around,  nobody 
else  has  a  look-in  at  the  *  handsome '  game.  Issy,  what  do 
you  do  to  your  face?" 

"  Do  to  it?     What  do  you  mean  by  do  to  it?  " 

"  What  do  you  do  to  it  to  make  it  look  the  way  it  does  ? 
Don't  tell  me  it  grew  that  way  naturally." 

"Grew!     Course  it  grew!     What  kind  of  talk's  that?" 

"  Issy,  with  a  face  like  yours  how  do  you  keep  the  birds 
away  ?  " 

*'  Eh?    Keep  the  birds  away !     Now  look  here,  just — " 

"  Excuse  me.  Did  I  say  *  birds/  Issy  ?  I  didn't  mean 
birds  like  —  like  crows.  Of  course  a  face  like  yours  would 
keep  the  crows  away  all  right  enough.  I  meant  girls.  How 
do  you  keep  the  girls  away?  I  should  think  they  would 
be  making  love  all  the  time." 

"Aw,  you  shut  up!  Just  'cause  you're  Cap'n  Lote's 
grandson  I  presume  likely  you  think  you  can  talk  any  kind  of 
talk,  don't  ye?" 


72  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Not  any  kind,  Is.  I  can't  talk  like  you.  Will  you 
teach  me  ?  " 

"  Shut  up !  Now,  by  Crimus,  you  —  you  f urriner  —  you 
Speranzy  — " 

Mr.  Keeler  appeared  at  the  office  window.  His  shrill 
voice  rose  pipingly  in  the  wintry  air  as  he  demanded  to 
know  what  was  the  trouble  out  there. 

Mr.  Price,  still  foaming,  strode  toward  the  window ;  Al 
bert  laughingly  followed  him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  repeated  Laban.  "There's 
enough  noise  for  a  sewin'  circle.  Be  still,  Is,  can't  you,  for 
a  minute.  Al,  what's  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  Issy's  been  talking  about  his  face,"  explained  Albert, 
soberly. 

"  I  ain't  neither.  I  was  h'istin'  up  my  end  of  a  j'ist,  same 
as  I'm  paid  to  do,  and,  'stead  of  helpin'  he  stands  there  and 
heaves  out  talk  about  —  about  — " 

"Well,  about  what?" 

"  Aw,  about  —  about  me  and  —  and  girls  —  and  all  sorts 
of  dum  foolishness.  I  tell  ye,  I've  got  somethin'  else  to  do 
beside  listen  to  that  kind  of  cheap  talk." 

"  Um.  Yes,  yes.  I  see.  Well,  Al,  what  have  you  got 
to  say?" 

"  Nothing.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  it  is  all  about.  I 
was  working  as  hard  as  I  could  and  all  at  once  he  began 
pitching  into  me." 

"  Pitchin'  into  you  ?     How  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Something  about  my  looks  he  didn't 
like,  I  guess.  Wanted  to  know  if  I  thought  I  was  as  hand 
some  as  he  was,  or  something  like  that." 

"  Eh  ?    I  never  neither !     All  I  said  was  — " 

Mr.  Keeler  raised  his  hand.  "  Seems  to  be  a  case  for  an 
umpire,"  he  observed.  "  Um.  Seem's  if  'twas,  seems  so, 
seems  so.  Well,  Captain  Lote's  just  comin'  across  the  road 
and,  if  you  say  the  word,  I'll  call  him  in  to  referee.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

They  said  nothing  relevant  to  the  subject  in  hand.     Issa- 


THE  PORTYGEE  73 

char  made  the  only  remark.  "  Cri mus-tee ! "  he  ejaculated. 
"  Come  on,  Al,  come  on." 

The  pair  hurried  away  to  resume  lumber  piling.  Laban 
smiled  slightly  and  closed  the  window.  It  may  be  gathered 
from  this  incident  that  when  the  captain  was  in  charge  of 
the  deck  there  was  little  idle  persiflage  among  the  "  f  o'mast 
hands."  They,  like  others  in  South  Harniss,  did  not  pre 
sume  to  trifle  with  Captain  Lote  Snow. 

So  the  business  education  of  Alberto  Miguel  Carlos  Sper- 
anza  progressed.  At  the  end  of  the  first  six  weeks  in  South 
Harniss  he  had  learned  a  little  about  bookkeeping,  a  little 
about  selling  hardware,  a  little  about  measuring  and  mark 
ing  lumber.  And  it  must  be  admitted  that  that  little  had 
been  acquired,  not  because  of  vigorous  application  on  the 
part  of  the  pupil,  but  because,  being  naturally  quick  and  in 
telligent,  he  could  not  help  learning  something.  He  liked 
the  work  just  as  little  as  he  had  in  the  beginning  of  his 
apprenticeship.  And,  although  he  was  forgetting  his 
thoughts  of  running  away,  of  attempting  fortune  on  his  own 
hook,  he  was  just  as  rebellious  as  ever  against  a  future  to 
be  spent  in  that  office  and  at  that  work. 

Outside  the  office  and  the  hateful  bookkeeping  he  was 
beginning  to  find  several  real  interests.  At  the  old  house 
which  had  for  generations  been  called  "  the  Snow  place," 
he  was  beginning  to  feel  almost  at  home.  He  and  his 
grandmother  were  becoming  close  friends.  She  was  not 
looking  for  trouble,  she  never  sat  for  long  intervals  gazing 
at  him  as  if  she  were  guessing,  guessing,  guessing  concern 
ing  him.  Captain  Zelotes  did  that,  but  Olive  did  not.  She 
had  taken  the  boy,  her  "  Janie's  boy,"  to  her  heart  from  the 
moment  she  saw  him  and  she  mothered  him  and  loved  him 
in  a  way  which  —  so  long  as  it  was  not  done  in  public  — 
comforted  his  lonely  soul.  They  had  not  yet  reached  the 
stage  where  he  confided  in  her  to  any  great  extent,  but  that 
was  certain  to  come  later.  It  was  his  grandmother's  love 
and  the  affection  he  was  already  beginning  to  feel  for  her 
which,  during  these  first  lonesome,  miserable  weeks,  kept 


74  THE  PORTYGEE 

him  from,  perhaps,  turning  the  running  awa^  fantasy  into 
a  reality. 

Another  inmate  of  the  Snow  household  with  whom  Albert 
was  becoming  better  acquainted  with  was  Mrs.  Rachel  Ellis. 
Their  real  acquaintanceship  began  one  Sunday  forenoon 
when  Captain  Zelotes  and  Olive  had  gone  to  church.  Or 
dinarily  he  would  have  accompanied  them,  to  sit  in  the 
straight-backed  old  pew  on  a  cushion  which  felt  lumpy  and 
smelt  ancient  and  musty,  and  pretend  to  listen  while  old  Mr. 
Kendall  preached  a  sermon  which  was  ancient  and  musty 
likewise. 

But  this  Sunday  morning  he  awoke  with  a  headache  and 
his  grandmother  had  pleaded  for  him,  declaring  that  he 
ought  to  "  lay  to  bed  "  a  while  and  get  over  it.  He  got 
over  it  with  surprising  quickness  after  the  church  bell 
ceased  ringing,  and  came  downstairs  to  read  Ivanhoe  in  the 
sitting  room.  He  had  read  it  several  times  before,  but  he 
wanted  to  read  something  and  the  choice  of  volumes  in  the 
Snow  bookcase  was  limited.  He  was  stretched  out  on  the 
sofa  with  the  book  in  his  hand  when  the  housekeeper  en 
tered,  armed  with  a  dust-cloth.  She  went  to  church  only 
"  every  other  "  Sunday.  This  was  one  of  the  others  without 
an  every,  and  she  was  at  home. 

"  What  are  you  reading  Albert  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  few 
minutes  vigorous  wielding  of  the  dust-cloth.  "  It  must  be 
awful  interesting  you  stick  at  it  so  close." 

1'he  Black  Knight  was  just  then  hammering  with  his  bat 
tle-axe  at  the  gate- of  Front  de  Buef's  castle,  not  minding  the 
stones  and  beams  cast  down  upon  him  from  above  4i  no 
more  than  if  they  were  thistle-down  or  feathers."  Albert 
absently  admitted  that  the  story  was  interesting.  The  house 
keeper  repeated  her  request  to  be  told  its  name. 

" Ivanhoe''  replied  the  boy ;  adding,  as  the  name  did  not 
seem  to  convey  any  definite  idea  to  his  interrogator's  mind : 
"  It's  by  Walter  Scott,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Ellis  made  no  remark  immediately.  When  she  did 
it  \vas  to  the  effect  that  she  used  to  know  a  colored  man 
named  Scott  who  worked  at  the  hotel  once.  "  He  swept  out 


THE  PORTYGEE  75 

and  carried  trunks  and  such  things,"  she  explained.  "  He 
seemed  to  be  a  real  nice  sort  of  colored  man,  far  as  ever  I 
heard." 

Albert  was  more  interested  in  the  Black  Knight  of  Ivan- 
hoe  than  the  black  man  of  the  hotel,  so  he  went  on  reading. 
Rachel  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the  window  and  looked  out, 
twisting  and  untwisting  the  dust-cloth  in  her  lap. 

"  I  presume  likely  lots  and  lots  of  folks  have  read  that 
book,  ain't  they  ?  "  she  asked,  after  another  interval. 

"  What  ?  Oh,  yes,  almost  everybody.  It's  a  classic,  I 
suppose." 

"What's  that?" 

"What's  what?" 

"  What  you  said  the  book  was.  A  class-somethin'  or 
other?" 

"  Oh,  a  classic.  Why,  it's  —  it's  something  everybody 
knows  about,  or  —  or  ought  to  know  about.  One  of  the 
big  things,  you  know.  Like  —  like  Shakespeare  or  —  or 
Robinson  Crusoe  or  Paradise  Lost  or  —  lots  of  them.  It's 
a  book  everybody  reads  and  always  will." 

"  I  see.  Humph !  Well,  I  never  read  it.  ...  I  presume 
likely  you  think  that's  pretty  funny,  don't  you  ?  " 

Albert  tore  himself  away  from  the  fight  at  the  gate. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied. 

"  Yes,  you  do.  You  think  it's  awful  funny.  Well,  you 
wouldn't  if  you  knew  more  about  how  busy  I've  been  all 
my  life.  I  ain't  had  time  to  read  the  way  I'd  ought  to.  I 
read  a  book  once  though  that  I'll  never  forget.  Did  you 
ever  read  a  book  called  Foul  Play?" 

"  No.  .  .  .  Why,  hold  on,  though ;  I  think  I  have.  By 
Charles  Reade,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  who  wrote  it,  a  man  named  Charles  Reade. 
Laban  told  me  that  part  of  it ;  he  reads  a  lot,  Laban  does.  / 
never  noticed  who  wrote  it,  myself.  I  was  too  interested 
in  it  to  notice  little  extry  things  like  that.  But  ain't  that  a 
wonderful  book?  Ain't  that  the  best  book  you  ever  read 
in  all  your  life?  " 

She  dropped  the  dust-cloth  and  was  too  excited  and  en- 


76  THE  PORTYGEE 

thusiastic  to  pick  it  up.  Albert  did  his  best  to  recall  some 
thing  definite  concerning  Foul  Play.  The  book  had  been  in 
the  school  library  and  he,  who  read  almost  everything,  had 
read  it  along  with  the  others. 

**  Let  me  see,"  he  said  musingly.  "  About  a  shipwreck 
—  something  about  a  shipwreck  in  it,  wasn't  there  ?  " 

"I  should  say  there  was!  My  stars  above*  Not  the 
common  kind  of  shipwreck,  neither,  the  kind  they  have  down 
to  Setuckit  P'int  on  the  shoals.  No  sir-ee!  This  one  was 
sunk  on  purpose.  That  Joe  Wylie  bored  holes  right  down 
through  her  with  a  gimlet,  the  wicked  thing !  And  that  set 
'em  afloat  right  out  on  the  sea  in  a  boat,  and  there  wan't 
anything  to  eat  till  Robert  Penf old  —  oh,  he  was  the  smart 
one ;  he'd  find  anything,  that  man !  —  he  found  the  bar 
nacles  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  just  the  same  as  he  found 
out  how  to  diffuse  intelligence  tied  onto  a  duck's  leg  over 
land  knows  how  many  legs  —  leagues,  I  mean  —  of  ocean. 
But  that  come  later.  Don't  you  remember  that?  " 

Albert  laughed.  The  story  was  beginning  to  come  back 
to  him. 

"  Oh,  sure !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  remember  now.  He  — 
the  Penf  old  fellow  —  and  the  girl  landed  on  this  island 
and  had  all  sorts  of  adventures,  and  fell  in  love  and  all  that 
sort  of  stuff,  and  then  her  dad  came  and  took  her  back  to 
England  and  she  —  she  did  something  or  other  there  to  — 
to  get  the  Penfold  guy  out  of  trouble." 

"  Did  somethin' !  I  should  say  she  did !  Wiiy,  she 
found  out  all  about  who  forged  the  letter  —  the  note,  I 
mean  —  that's  what  she  done.  'Twas  Arthur  Wardlaw, 
that's  who  'twas.  And  he  was  tryin'  to  get  Helen  all  the 
time  for  himself,  the  skinner !  Don't  talk  to  me  about  that 
Arthur  Wardlaw!  I  never  could  bear  him" 

She  spok:  as  if  she  had  known  the  detested  Wardlaw 
intimately  from  childhood.  Young  Speranza  was  hugely 
amused.  Ivanhoe  was  quite  forgotten. 

"  Foul  Play  was  great  stuff,"  he  observed.  **  When  did 
you  read  it  ?  " 

*'  Eh  ?     When  ?    Oh,  ever  and  ever  so  long  ago.     When  I 


THE  PORTYGEE  77 

was  about  twenty,  I  guess,  and  laid  up  with  the  measles. 
That's  the  o:ily  time  I  ever  was  real  what  you  might  call 
down  sick  in  my  life,  and  I  commenced  with  measles. 
That's  the  way  a  good  many  folks  commence,  I  know,  but 
they  don't  generally  wait  till  they're  out  of  their  'teens  afore 
they  start.  I  was  workin'  for  Mrs.  Philander  Bassett  at 
the  time,  and  she  says  to  me :  '  Rachel,'  she  says,  '  you're  on 
the  mendin'  hand  now,  wouldn't  you  like  a  book  to  read  ? ' 
I  says,  '  Why,  maybe  I  would.'  And  she  fetched  up  three 
of  'em.  I  can  see  'em  now,  all  three,  plain  as  day.  One 
was  Barriers  Burned  Away.  She  said  that  was  somethin' 
about  a  big  fire.  Well,  I'm  awful  nervous  about  fires,  have 
been  from  a  child,  so  I  didn't  read  that.  And  another  had 
the  queerest  kind  of  a  name,  if  you'd  call  it  a  name  at  all ; 
'twas  She." 

Albert  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I've  read  that." 

"  Have  you  ?  Well,  I  begun  to,  but  my  stars,  that  wasn't 
any  book  to  give  to  a  person  with  nerve  symptoms.  I  got 
as  far  as  where  those  Indians  or  whatever  they  was  started 
to  put  red-hot  kettles  on  folks's  heads,  and  that  was  enough 
for  me.  '  Give  me  somethin'  civilized,'  says  I,  *  or  not  at 
all.'  So  I  commenced  Foul  Play,  and  I  tell  you  I  kept  right 
on  to  the  end. 

*'  I  don't  suppose,"  she  went  on,  "  that  there  ever  was  a 
much  better  book  than  that  wrote,  was  there  ?  " 

Albert  temporized.     "  It  is  a  good  one,"  he  admitted. 

"  Don't  seem  to  me  there  could  be  much  better.  Laban 
says  it's  good,  though  he  won't  go  so  far  as  to  say  it's  the 
very  best.  He's  read  lots  and  lots  of  books,  Laban  has. 
Reads  an  awful  lot  in  his  spare  time.  He's  what  you'd  call 
an  educated  person,  which  is  what  I  ain't.  And  I  guess 
you'll  say  that  last  is  plain  enough  without  bein'  told,"  she 
added. 

Her  companion,  not  exactly  knowing  how  to  answer,  was 
sJlent  for  a  moment.  Rachel,  who  had  picked  up  and  was 
again  twisting  the  dust-cloth,  returned  to  the  subject  she  so 
delighted  in. 


78  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  But  that  Foul  Play  book,"  she  continued,  "  I've  read 
till  I've  pretty  nigh  wore  the  covers  off.  When  Mrs.  Bas- 
sett  saw  how  much  I  liked  it  she  gave  it  to  me  for  a  present. 
I  read  a  little  bit  in  it  every  little  while.  I  kind  of  fit  the 
folks  in  that  book  to  folks  in  real  life,  sort  of  compare  'em, 
you  know.  Do  you  ever  do  that  ?  " 

Albert,  repressing  a  chuckle,  said,  '*  Sure !  "  again.  She 
nodded. 

**  Now  there's  General  Rolleson  in  that  book,"  she  said. 
"  Do  you  know  who  he  makes  me  think  of  ?  Cap'n  Lote, 
your  grandpa,  that's  who." 

General  Rolleson,  as  Albert  remembered  him,  was  an  ex 
tremely  dignified,  cultured  and  precise  old  gentleman.  Just 
what  resemblance  there  might  be  between  him  and  Captain 
Zelotes  Snow,  ex-skipper  of  the  Olive  S.,  he  could  not  im 
agine.  He  could  not  repress  a  grin,  and  the  housekeeper 
noticed  it. 

*'  Seems  funny  to  you,  I  presume  likely,"  she  said. 
"  Well,  now  you  think  about  it.  This  General  Rolleson  man 
was  kind  of  proud  and  sot  in  his  ways  just  as  your  grandpa 
is,  Albert.  He  had  a  daughter  he  thought  all  the  world  of ; 
so  did  Cap'n  Lote.  Along  come  a  person  that  wanted  to 
marry  the  daughter.  In  the  book  'twas  Robert  Penfold, 
who  had  been  a  convict.  In  your  grandpa's  case,  'twas  your 
pa,  who  had  been  a  play-actor.  So  you  see  — ' 

Albert  sat  up  on  the  sofa.  "  Hold  on ! "  he  interrupted 
indignantly.  "Do  you  mean  to  compare  my  father  with  a  — 
with  a  convict?  I  want  you  to  understand  — " 

Mrs.  Ellis  held  up  the  dust-cloth.  "  Now,  now,  now,"  she 
protested.  4<  Don't  go  puttin'  words  in  my  mouth  that  I 
didn't  say.  I  don't  doubt  your  pa  was  a  nice  man,  in  his 
way,  though  I  never  met  him.  But  'twan't  Cap'n  Lote's  way 
any  more  than  Robert  Penfold's  was  General  Rolleson's." 

"  My  father  was  famous,"  declared  the  youth  hotly.  "  He 
was  one  of  the  most  famous  singers  in  this  country.  Every 
body  knows  that  —  that  is,  everybody  but  Grandfather  and 
the  gang  down  here,"  he  added,  in  disgust. 

"  I  don't  say  you're  wrong.     Laban  tells  me  that  some  of 


THE  PORTYGEE  79 

those  singin'  folks  get  awful  high  wages,  more  than  the 
cap'n  of  a  steamboat,  he  says,  though  that  seems  like 
stretchin'  it  to  me.  But,  as  I  say,  Cap'n  Lote  was  proud, 
and  nobody  but  the  best  would  satisfy  him  for  Janie,  your 
mother.  Well,  in  that  way,  you  see,  he  reminds  me  of  Gen 
eral  Rolleson  in  the  book." 

"  Look  here,  Mrs.  Ellis.  Tell  me  about  this  business  of 
Dad's  marrying  my  mother.  I  never  knew  much  of  any 
thing  about  it." 

'*  You  didn't  ?     Did  your  pa  never  tell  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Humph !  That's  funny.  Still,  I  don't  know's  as  'twas, 
after  all,  considerin'  you  was  only  a  boy.  Probably  he'd 
have  told  you  some  day.  Well,  I  don't  suppose  there's  any 
secret  about  it.  'Twas  town  talk  down  here  when  it  hap 
pened." 

She  told  him  the  story  of  the  runaway  marriage.  Albert 
listened  with  interest  and  the  almost  incredulous  amazement 
with  which  the  young  always  receive  tales  of  their  parents' 
love  affairs.  Love,  for  people  of  his  age  or  a  trifle  older, 
was  a  natural  and  understandable  thing,  but  for  his  father, 
as  he  remembered  him,  to  have  behaved  in  this  way  was 
incomprehensible. 

"  So,"  said  Rachel,  in  conclusion,  "  that's  how  it  happened. 
That's  why  Cap'n  Lote  couldn't  ever  forgive  your  father." 

He  tossed  his  head.  "  Well,  he  ought  to  have  forgiven 
him,"  he  declared.  "  He  was  dead  lucky  to  get  such  a  man 
for  a  son-in-law,  if  you  ask  me." 

"  He  didn't  think  so.  And  he  wouldn't  ever  mention 
your  pa's  name." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  that.  Anybody  can  see  how  he  hated 
Father.  And  he  hates  me  the  same  way,"  he  added 
moodily. 

Mrs.  Ellis  was  much  disturbed.  *'  Oh,  no,  he  don't,"  she 
cried.  "  You  mustn't  think  that,  Albert.  He  don't  hate 
you,  I'm  sure  of  it.  He's  just  kind  of  doubtful  about  you, 
that's  all.  He  remembers  how  your  pa  acted  —  or  how  he 
thinks  he  acted  —  and  so  he  can't  help  bein'  the  least  mite 


8o  THE  PORTYGEE 

afraid  the  same  thing  may  crop  out  in  you.  If  yoj  just 
stick  to  your  job  over  there  at  the  lumber  yards  and  keep  on 
tryin'  to  please  him,  he'll  get  all  over  that  suspicion,  see  if 
he  don't.  Cap'n  Lote  Snow  is  stubborn  sometimes  and  hard 
to  turn,  but  he's  square  as  a  brick.  There's  some  that  don't 
like  him,  and  a  good  many  that  don't  agree  with  him  —  but 
everybody  respects  him." 

Albert  did  not  answer.  The  housekeeper  rose  from  her 
chair. 

"  There !  "  she  exclaimed.  *'  I  don't  know  when  I've  set 
down  for  so  long.  Goodness  krows  I've  got  work  enough 
to  do  without  settin'  around  talkin'.  I  can't  think  what  pos 
sessed  me  to  do  it  this  time,  unless  'twas  seein'  you  readin' 
that  book."  She  paused  a  moment  and  then  said :  "  Albert, 
I  —  I  don't  want  you  and  your  grandpa  to  have  any  quar 
rels.  You  see  —  well,  you  see,  I  used  to  know  your  mother 
real  well,  and  —  and  I  thought  an  awful  sight  of  her.  I 
wish  —  I  do  wish  when  you  and  the  cap'n  have  any  trouble 
or  anything,  or  when  you  think  you're  liable  to  have  any, 
you'd  come  and  talk  it  over  with  me.  I'm  like  the  feller 
that  Laban  tells  about  in  his  dog-^fight  yarn.  This  feller  was 
watchin'  the  fight  and  when  they  asked  him  to  stop  it  afore 
one  or  t'other  of  the  dogs  was  killed,  he  just  shook  his  head. 
4  No-o,'  he  says,  kind  of  slow  and  moderate,  *  I  guess  I  shan't 
interfere.  One  of  'em's  been  stealin'  my  chickens  and  the 
other  one  bit  me.  I'm  a  friend  to  both  parties,'  he  says. 
Course  I  don't  mean  it  exactly  that  way,"  she  added,  with  a 
smile,  '*  but  you  know  what  I  do  mean,  I  guess.  Will  you 
talk  things  over  with  me  sometimes,  Albert  ?  " 

His  answer  was  not  very  enthusiastic,  but  he  said  he 
guessed  so,  and  Rachel  seemed  satisfied  with  that.  She 
went  on  with  her  dusting,  and  he  with  his  reading,  but  the 
conversation  was  the  first  of  many  between  the  pair.  The 
housekeeper  appeared  to  consider  his  having  read  her  be 
loved  Foul  Play  a  sort  of  password  admitting  him  to  her 
lodge  and  that  thereafter  they  were,  in  consequence,  to  be 
confidants  and  comrades.  She  never  hesitated  to  ask  him 
the  most  personal  questions  concerning  his  work,  his  plans, 


THE  PORTYGEE  81 

the  friends  or  acquaintances  he  was  making  in  the  village. 
Some  of  those  questions  he  answered  honestly  and  fully, 
some  he  dodged,  some  he  did  not  answer  at  all.  Mrs.  Ellis 
never  resented  his  not  answering.  "  I  presume  likely  that 
ain't  any  of  my  business,  is  it  ?  "  she  would  say,  and  ask  about 
something  else. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  was  perfectly  outspoken  concern 
ing  her  own  affairs.  He  was  nearly  overcome  with  hilarious 
joy  when,  one  day,  she  admitted  that,  in  her  mind,  Robert 
Penfold,  the  hero  of  Foul  Play,  lived  again  in  the  person  of 
Laban  Keeler. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Ellis,"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  could  trust 
himself  to  speak  at  all,  "  I  don't  see  that.  Penfold  was  a 
six-footer,  wasn't  he?  And  —  anu  athletic,  you  know,  and 
—  and  a  minister,  and  young  —  younger,  I  mean  —  and  — " 

Rachel  interrupted.  *'  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  And 
Laban  is  little,  and  not  very  young,  and,  whatever  else«he  is, 
he  ain't  a  minister.  I  know  all  that.  I  know  the  outside 
of  him  don't  look  like  Robert  Penfold  at  all.  But,"  some 
what  apologetically,  "you  see  I've  been  acquainted  with 
him  so  many  years  I've  got  into  the  habit  of  seem'  his  in 
side.  Now  that  sounds  kind  of  ridiculous,  I  know,"  she 
added.  "Sounds  as  if  I  —  I  —  well,  as  if  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  takin'  him  apart,  like  a  watch  or  somethin'.  What 
I  mean  is  that  I  know  him  all  through.  I've  known  him  for 
a  long,  long  while.  He  ain't  much  to  look  at,  bein'  so  little 
and  sort  of  dried  up,  but  he's  got  a  big,  fine  heart  and  big 
brains.  He  can  do  'most  anything  he  sets  his  hand  to. 
When  I  used  to  know  him,  when  I  was  a  girl,  folks  was 
always  prophesyin'  that  Laban  Keeler  would  turn  out  to  be 
a  whole  lot  more'n  the  average.  He  would,  too,  only  for 
one  thing,  and  you  know  what  that  is.  It's  what  has  kept 
me  from  marryin'  him  all  this  time.  I  swore  I'd  never 
marry  a  man  that  drinks,  and  I  never  will.  Why,  if  it 
wasn't  for  liquor  Labe  would  have  been  runnin'  his  own 
business  and  gettin'  rich  long  ago.  He  all  but  runs  Cap'n 
Lote's  place  as  'tis.  The  cap'n  and  a  good  many  other 
folks  don't  realize  that,  but  it's  so." 


82  THE  PORTYGEE 

It  was  plain  that  she  worshiped  the  little  bookkeeper 
and,  except  during  the  periods  of  "  vacation  "  and  "  sym- 
pathetics,"  was  tremendously  proud  of  him.  Albert  soon 
discovered  that  Mr.  Keeler's  feeling  for  her  was  equally 
strong.  In  his  case,  though,  there  was  also  a  strong  strain 
of  gratitude. 

"  She's  a  fine  woman,  Al,"  he  confided  to  his  assistant  on 
one  occasion.  "  A  fine  woman.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  yes.  They 
don't  make  'em  any  finer.  Ah  hum !  And  not  so  long  ago 
I  read  about  a  passel  of  darn  fools  arguin'  thit  the  angels 
in  heaven  was  all  he-ones.  .  .  .  Umph!  .  .  .  Sho,  sho!  If 
men  was  as  good  as  women,  Ansel  —  Alfred  —  Albert,  I 
mean  —  we  could  start  an  opposition  heaven  down  here 
'most  any  time.  'Most  any  time  —  yes,  yes." 

It  was  considerable  for  him  to  say.  Except  when  on  a 
vacation,  Laban  was  not  loquacious. 

Each  Sunday  afternoon,  when  the  weather  was  pleasant, 
he  came,  dressed  in  his  best  black  cutaway,  shiny  at  elbows 
and  the  under  part  of  the  sleeves,  striped  trousers  and  a 
pearl  gray  soft  hat  with  a  black  band,  a  hat  which  looked 
as  much  out  of  place  above  his  round,  withered  little  face  as 
a  red  roof  might  have  looked  on  a  family  vault,  and  he  and 
the  housekeeper  went  for  a  walk. 

Rachel,  in  her  Sunday  black,  bulked  large  beside  him.  As 
Captain  Zelotes  said,  the  pair  looked  like  "  a  tug  takin'  a 
liner  out  to  sea." 


CHAPTER   V 

OUTSIDE  of  the  gates  of  the  Snow  place  Albert 
was  making  many  acquaintances  and  a  few  friends. 
After  church  on  Sundays  his  grandmother  had  a 
distressful  habit  of  suddenly  seizing  his  arm  or  his  coat-tail 
as  he  was  hurrying  toward  the  vestibule  and  the  sunshine 
of  outdoors,  and  saying:  "Oh,  Albert,  just  a  minute! 
Here's  somebody  you  haven't  met  yet,  I  guess.  Elsie  "  — 
or  Nellie  or  Mabel  or  Henry  or  Charlie  or  George,  which 
ever  it  happened  to  be  —  '*  this  is  my  grandson,  Albert 
Speranza."  And  the  young  person  to  whom  he  was  thus 
introduced  would,  if  a  male,  extend  a  hesitating  hand,  give 
his  own  an  embarrassed  shake,  smile  uncertainly  and  say, 
*'  Yes  —  er  —  yes.  Pleased  to  meet  you."  Or,  if  of  the 
other  sex,  would  blush  a  little  and  venture  the  observation 
that  it  was  a  lovely  morning,  and  wasn't  the  sermon  splendid. 
These  Sabbath  introductions  led  to  week-day,  or  rather 
week-evening,  meetings.  The  principal  excitement  in  South 
Harniss  was  "  going  for  the  mail."  At  noon  and  after  sup 
per  fully  one-half  of  the  village  population  journeyed  to  the 
post  office.  Albert's  labors  for  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  prevented 
his  attending  the  noon  gatherings  —  his  grandfather  usually 
got  the  morning  mail  —  but  he  early  formed  the  habit  of 
sauntering  "  down  street "  in  the  evening  if  the  weather  was 
not  too  cold  or  disagreeable.  There  he  was  certain  to  find 
groups  of  South  Harniss  youth  of  both  sexes,  talking,  gig 
gling,  skylarking  and  flirting.  Sometimes  he  joined  one  or 
the  other  of  these  groups;  quite  as  often  he  did  not,  but 
kept  aloof  and  by  himself,  for  it  may  as  well  be  acknowl 
edged  now,  if  it  is  not  already  plain,  that  the  son  of  Miguel 
Carlos  Speranza  had  inherited  a  share  of  his  father's  tem 
perament  and  self-esteem.  The  whim  of  the  moment  might 

83 


84  THE  PORTYGEE 

lead  him  to  favor  these  young  people  with  his  society,  but  he 
was  far  from  considering  himself  under  obligation  to  do  so. 
He  had  not  the  least  idea  that  he  was  in  any  way  a  snob,  he 
would  have  hotly  resented  being  called  one,  but  he  accepted 
his  estimate  of  his  own  worth  as  something  absolute  and 
certain,  to  be  taken  for  granted. 

Now  this  attitude  of  mind  had  its  dangers.  Coupled  with 
its  possessor's  extraordinary  good  looks,  it  was  fascinating  to 
a  large  percentage  of  the  village  girls.  The  Speranza  eyes 
and  the  Speranza  curls  and  nose  and  chin  were,  when  joined 
with  the  easy  condescension  of  the  Speranza  manner,  a  com 
bination  fatal  to  the  susceptible.  The  South  Harniss  "  flap 
pers,"  most  of  them,  enthused  over  the  new  bookkeeper  in 
the  lumber  office.  They  ogled  and  giggled  and  gushed  in 
his  presence,  and  he  was  tolerant  or  bored,  just  as  he  hap 
pened  to  be  feeling  at  the  moment.  But  he  never  displayed 
a  marked  interest  in  any  one  of  them,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  he  had  no  such  interest.  To  him  they  were 
merely  girls,  nice  enough  in  their  way,  perhaps,  but  that 
way  not  his.  Most  of  the  town  young  fellows  of  his  age 
he  found  had  a  "  girl "  and  almost  every  girl  had  a  "  fel 
low  " ;  there  was  calf  love  in  abundance,  but  he  was  a  dif- 
erent  brand  of  veal. 

However,  a  great  man  must  amuse  himself,  and  so  he  ac 
cepted  invitations  to  church  socials  and  suppers  and  to  an 
occasional  dance  or  party.  His  style  of  dancing  was  not 
that  of  South  Harniss  in  the  winter.  It  was  common  enough 
at  the  hotel  or  the  **  tea  house  "  in  July  and  August  when 
the  summer  people  were  there,  but  not  at  the  town  hall  at 
the  Red  Men's  Annual  Ball  in  February.  A  fellow  who 
could  foxtrot  as  he  could  swept  all  before  him.  Sam 
Thatcher,  of  last  year's  class  in  the  high  school,  but  now 
clerking  in  the  drug  store,  who  had  hitherto  reigned  as  the 
best  "  two-stepper  "  in  town,  suddenly  became  conscious  of 
his  feet.  Then,  too,  the  contents  of  the  three  trunks  which 
had  been  sent  on  from  school  were  now  in  evidence.  No 
Boston  or  Brockton  "  Advanced  Styles  "  held  a  candle  to 
those  suits  which  the  tailor  of  the  late  Miguel  Canos  had 


THE  PORTYGEE  85 

turned  out  for  his  patron's  only  son.  No  other  eighteen- 
year-older  among  the  town's  year-around  residents  possessed 
a  suit  of  evening  clothes.  Albert  wore  his  "  Tux  "  at  the 
Red  Men's  Ball  and  hearts  palpitated  beneath  new  muslin 
gowns  and  bitter  envy  stirred  beneath  the  Brockton  "  Ad 
vanced  Styles." 

In  consequence,  by  spring  the  social  status  of  Albert 
Speranza  among  those  of  his  own  age  in  the  village  had  be 
come  something  like  this :  He  was  in  high  favor  with  most 
of  the  girls  and  in  corresponding  disfavor  with  most  of  the 
young  fellows.  The  girls,  although  they  agreed  that  he  was 
44  stand-offish  and  kind  of  queer,"  voted  him  "  just  lovely, 
all  the  same."  Their  envious  beaux  referred  to  him  sneer- 
ingly  among  themselves  as  a  <4  stuck-up  dude."  Some  one 
of  them  remembered  having  been  told  that  Captain  Zelotes, 
years  before,  had  been  accustomed  to  speak  of  his  hated 
son-in-law  as  "  the  Portygee."  Behind  his  back  they  formed 
the  habit  of  referring  to  their  new  rival  in  the  same  way. 
The  first  time  Albert  heard  himself  called  a  "  Portygee  "  was 
after  prayer  meeting  on  Friday  evening,  when,  obeying  a 
whim,  he  had  walked  home  with  Gertie  Kendrick,  quite  for 
getful  of  the  fact  that  Sam  Thatcher,  who  aspired  to  be 
Gertie's  "  steady,"  was  himself  waiting  on  the  church  steps 
for  that  privilege. 

Even  then  nothing  might  have  come  of  it  had  he  and  Sam 
not  met  in  the  path  as  he  was  sauntering  back  across  lots  to 
the  main  road  and  home.  It  was  a  brilliant  moonlight  night 
and  the  pair  came  together,  literally,  at  the  bend  where  the 
path  turns  sharply  around  the  corner  of  Elijah  Doane's  cran 
berry  shanty.  Sam,  plowing  along,  head  down  and  hands  in 
his  pockets,  swung  around  that  corner  and  bumped  violently 
into  Albert,  who,  a  cigarette  between  his  lips  —  out  here  in 
the  fields,  away  from  civilization  and  Captain  Zelotes,  was  a 
satisfyingly  comfortable  place  to  smoke  a  cigarette  —  was 
dreaming  dreams  of  a  future  far  away  from  South  Harniss. 
Sam  had  been  thinking  of  Gertie.  Albert  had  not.  She 
had  been  a  mere  incident  of  the  evening:  he  had  walked 
home  wi^h  her  because  he  happened  to  be  in  the  mood  for 


86  THE  PORTYGEE 

companionship  and  she  was  rather  pretty  and  always  talk 
ative.  His  dreams  during  the  stroll  back  alone  in  the  moon 
light  had  been  of  lofty  things,  of  poetry  and  fame  and  high 
emprise;  giggling  Gerties  had  no  place  in  them.  It  was 
distinctly  different  with  Sam  Thatcher. 

They  crashed  together,  gasped  and  recoiled. 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry !  "  exclaimed  Albert. 

"  Can't  you  see  where  you're  goin',  you  darned  Portygee 
half-breed?"  demanded  Sam. 

Albert,  who  had  stepped  past  him,  turned  and  came  back. 

'*  What  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  said  you  was  a  darned  half-breed,  and  you  are. 
You're  a  no-good  Portygee,  like  your  father." 

It  was  all  he  had  time  to  say.  For  the  next  few  minutes 
he  was  too  busy  to  talk.  The  Speranzas,  father  and  son, 
possessed  temperament ;  also  they  possessed  temper.  Sam's 
face,  usually  placid  and  good-natured,  for  Sam  was  by  no 
means  a  bad  fellow  in  his  way,  was  fiery  red.  Albert's,  on 
the  contrary,  went  perfectly  white.  He  seemed  to  settle 
back  on  his  heels  and  from  there  almost  to  fly  at  his  insulter. 
Five  minutes  or  so  later  they  were  both  dusty  and  dirty  and 
dishevelled  and  bruised,  but  Sam  was  pretty  thoroughly 
licked.  For  one  thing,  he  had  been  taken  by  surprise  by 
his  adversary's  quickness ;  for  another,  Albert's  compulsory 
training  in  athletics  at  school  gave  him  an  advantage.  He 
was  by  no  means  an  unscarred  victor,  but  victor  he  was. 
Sam  was  defeated,  and  very  much  astonished.  He  leaned 
against  the  cranberry  house  and  held  on  to  his  nose. 
It  had  been  a  large  nose  in  the  beginning,  it  was  larger 
now. 

Albert  stood  before  him,  his  face  —  where  it  was  not  a 
pleasing  combination  of  black  and  blue  —  still  white. 

"If  you  —  if  you  speak  of  my  father  or  me  again  like 
that,"  he  panted,  "  I'll  —  I'll  kill  you !  " 

Then  he  strode  off,  a  bit  wobbly  on  his  legs,  but  with 
dignity. 

Oddly  enough,  no  one  except  the  two  most  interested  ever 
knew  of  this  encounter.  Albert,  of  course,  did  not  tell.  He 


THE  PORTYGEE  87 

was  rather  ashamed  of  it.  For  the  son  of  Miguel  Carlos 
Speranza  to  conquer  dragons  was  a  worthy  and  heroic  busi 
ness,  but  there  seemed  to  be  mighty  little  heroism  in  licking 
Sam  Thatcher  behind  'Lije  Doane's  cranberry  shack.  And 
Sam  did  not  tell.  Gertie  next  day  confided  that  she  didn't 
care  two  cents  for  that  stuck-up  Al  Speranza,  anyway ;  she 
had  let  him  see  her  home  only  because  Sam  had  danced  so 
many  times  with  Elsie  Wixon  at  the  ball  that  night.  So 
Sam  said  nothing  concerning  the  fight,  explaining  the  con 
dition  of  his  nose  by  saying  that  he  had  run  into  something 
in  the  dark.  And  he  did  not  appear  to  hold  a  grudge  against 
his  conqueror;  on  the  contrary  when  others  spoke  of  the 
latter  as  a  *'  sissy,"  Sam  defended  him.  "  He  may  be  a 
dude,"  said  Sam ;  '*  I  don't  say  he  ain't.  But  he  ain't  no 
sissy." 

When  pressed  to  tell  why  he  was  so  certain,  his  answer 
was :  "  Because  he  don't  act  like  one."  It  was  not  a  con 
vincing  answer,  the  general  opinion  being  that  that  was  ex 
actly  how  Al  Speranza  did  act. 

There  was  one  young  person  in  the  village  toward  whom 
Albert  found  himself  making  exceptions  in  his  attitude  of 
serenely  impersonal  tolerance.  That  person  was  Helen 
Kendall,  the  girl  who  had  come  into  his  grandfather's  office 
the  first  morning  of  his  stay  in  South  Harniss.  He  was 
forced  to  make  these  exceptions  by  the  young  lady  herself. 
When  he  met  her  the  second  time  —  which  was  after  church 
on  his  first  Sunday  —  his  manner  was  even  more  loftily 
reserved  than  usual.  He  had  distinct  recollections  of  their 
first  conversation.  His  own  part  in  it  had  not  been  brilliant, 
and  in  it  he  had  made  the  absurd  statement  —  absurd  in  the 
light  of  what  came  after  —  that  he  was  certainly  not  em 
ployed  by  Z.  Snow  and  Co. 

So  he  was  cool  and  superior  when  his  grandmother 
brought  them  together  after  the  meeting  was  over.  If  Helen 
noticed  the  superiority,  she  was  certainly  not  over-awed  by 
it,  for  she  was  so  simple  and  natural  and  pleasant  that  he 
was  obliged  to  unbend  and  be  natural  too.  In  fact,  at  their 
third  meeting  he  himself  spoke  of  the  interview  in  the  lum- 


88  THE  PORTYGEE 

ber  office  and  again  expressed  his  thanks  for  warning  him  of 
his  grandfather's  detestation  of  cigarettes. 

"  Gee !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I'm  certainly  glad  that  you  put 
me  on  to  the  old  boy's  feelings.  I  think  he'd  have  mur 
dered  me  if  he  had  come  back  and  found  me  puffing  a  Pall 
Mall  in  there." 

She  smiled.     "  He  does  hate  them,  doesn't  he?"  she  said. 

"  Hate  them !  I  should  say  he  did.  Hating  cigarettes  is 
about  the  only  point  where  he  and  Issy  get  along  without 
an  argument.  If  a  traveler  for  a  hardware  house  comes 
into  the  office  smoking  a  cig,  Issy  opens  all  the  windows  to 
let  the  smell  out,  and  Grandfather  opens  the  door  to  throw 
the  salesman  out.  Well,  not  exactly  to  throw  him  out,  of 
course,  but  he  never  buys  a  single  cent's  worth  of  a  cig 
arette  smoker." 

Helen  glanced  at  him.  "  You  must  be  awfully  glad  you're 
not  a  traveling  salesman,"  she  said  demurely. 

Albert  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  make  of  that  remark. 
He,  in  his  turn,  looked  at  her,  but  she  was  grave  and  quite 
unconcerned. 

"  Why?  "  he  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"Why  — what?" 

"  Why  ought  I  to  be  glad  I'm  not  a  traveling  salesman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It  just  seemed  to  me  that  you  ought, 
that's  all." 

"But  why?" 

'*  Well,  if  you  were  you  wouldn't  make  a  great  hit  with 
your  grandfather,  would  you?  " 

44  Eh  ?  ...  Oh,  you  mean  because  I  smoke.  Say,  you're 
not  silly  enough  to  be  down  on  cigarettes  the  way  grand 
father  is,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No-o,  I'm  not  down  on  them,  especially.  I'm  not  very 
well  acquainted  with  them." 

"  Neither  is  he.  He  never  smoked  one  in  his  life.  It's 
just  country  prejudice,  that's  all." 

"  Well,  I  live  in  the  country,  too,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  you're  different." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  89 

'*  Oh,  because  any  one  can  see  you  are."  The  manner  in 
which  this  remark  was  made,  a  manner  implying  a  wide 
knowledge  of  humanity  and  a  hint  of  personal  interest  and 
discriminating  appreciation,  had  been  found  quite  effective 
by  the  precocious  young  gentleman  uttering  it.  With  vari 
ations  to  suit  the  case  and  the  individual  it  had  been  pleas 
antly  received  by  several  of  the  Misses  Bradshaw's  pupils. 
He  followed  it  with  another  equally  tried  and  trustworthy. 

"  Say,"  he  added,  "  would  you  rather  I  didn't  smoke  ?  " 

The  obvious  reply  should  have  been,  *'  Oh,  would  you 
stop  if  I  asked  you  to?"  But  Helen  Kendall  was  a  most 
disconcerting  girl.  Instead  of  purring  a  pleased  recognition 
of  the  implied  flattery,  she  laughed  merrily.  The  Speranza 
dignity  was  hurt. 

"  What  is  there  to  laugh  at  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Are  you 
laughing  at  me  ?  " 

The  answer  was  as  truthful  as  truth  itself. 

44  Why,  of  course  I  am,"  she  replied ;  and  then  completed 
his  discomfiture  by  adding,  "  Why  should  I  care  whether  you 
smoke  or  not?  You  had  better  ask  your  grandfather  that 
question,  I  should  think." 

Now  Alberto  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza  had  not  been  ac 
customed  to  this  sort  of  treatment  from  young  persons  of 
the  other  sex,  and  he  walked  away  in  a  huff.  But  the  un 
usual  is  always  attractive,  and  the  next  time  he  and  Miss 
Kendall  met  he  was  as  gracious  and  cordial  as  ever.  But 
it  was  not  long  before  he  learned  that  the  graciousness  was, 
in  her  case,  a  mistake.  Whenever  he  grew  lofty,  she  took 
him  down,  laughed  at  him  with  complete  frankness,  and 
refused  to  treat  him  as  anything  but  a  boy.  So  they  grad 
ually  grew  friendly,  and  when  they  met  at  parties  or  church 
socials  he  spent  most  of  the  time  in  her  company,  or,  rather, 
he  would  have  so  spent  it  had  she  permitted.  But  she  was 
provokingly  impartial  and  was  quite  as  likely  to  refuse  a 
dance  with  him  to  sit  out  one  with  Sam  Thatcher  or  Ben 
Hammond  or  any  other  village  youth  of  her  acquaintance. 
However,  although  she  piqued  and  irritated  him,  he  was 
obliged  to  admit  to  his  inner  consciousness  that  she  was  the 


90  THE  PORTYGEE 


most  interesting  person  he  had  yet  discovered  in  South 
Harniss,  also  that  even  in  the  eyes  of  such  connoisseurs  as 
his  fellow  members  of  the  senior  class  at  school  she  would 
have  been  judged  a  "  good  looker,"  in  spite  of  her  country 
clothes. 

He  met  her  father,  of  course.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Ken 
dall  was  a  dreamy  little  old  gentleman  with  white  hair  and 
the  stooped  shoulders  of  a  student.  Everybody  liked  him, 
and  it  was  for  that  reason  principally  that  he  was  still  the 
occupant  of  the  Congregational  pulpit,  for  to  quote  Captain 
Zelotes,  his  sermons  were  inclined  to  be  like  the  sandy  road 
down  to  Setuckit  Point,  "  ten  mile  long  and  dry  all  the  way." 
He  was  a  widower  and  his  daughter  was  his  companion  and 
managing  housekeeper.  There  was  a  half-grown  girl,  one 
of  the  numerous  Price  family,  a  cousin  of  Issachar's,  who 
helped  out  with  the  sweeping,  dish-washing  and  cooking,  but 
Helen  was  the  real  head  of  the  household. 

*'  And  she's  a  capable  one,  too,"  declared  Mrs.  Snow,  when 
at  supper  one  evening  Helen's  name  had  come  into  the  con 
versation.  "  I  declare  when  I  was  there  yesterday  to  see 
the  minister  about  readin'  poetry  to  us  at  sewin'-circle  next 
Monday  that  parlor  was  as  neat  as  wax.  And  'twas  all 
Helen's  work  that  kept  it  so,  that  was  plain  enough.  You 
could  see  her  way  of  settin'  a  vase  or  puttin'  on  a  table 
cloth  wherever  you  looked.  Nobody  else  has  just  that  way. 
And  she  does  it  after  school  or  before  school  or  'most  any 
odd  time.  And  whatever  'tis  is  done  right." 

The  housekeeper  put  in  a  word.  *'  There's  no  doubt  about 
that,"  she  said,  "  and  there  ain't  any  more  doubt  that  she 
don't  get  much  help  from  her  pa  or  that  Maria  B."  There 
were  so  many  Prices  within  the  township  limits  that  indi 
viduals  were  usually  distinguished  by  their  middle  initial. 
"  As  for  Mr.  Kendall,"  went  on  Rachel,  "  he  moves  with  his 
head  in  the  clouds  and  his  feet  cruisin'  with  nobody  at  the 
wheel  two-thirds  of  the  time.  Emma  Smith  says  to  me  yes 
terday,  says  she,  '  Mr.  Kendall  is  a  saint  on  earth,  ain't  he/ 
says  she.  '  Yes,'  says  I,  '  and  he'll  be  one  in  heaven  any 
minute  if  he  goes  stumblin'  acrost  the  road  in  front  of  Doc- 


THE  PORTYGEE  91 

tor  Holliday's  automobile  the  way  I  see  him  yesterday.'  The 
doctor  put  on  the  brakes  with  a  slam  and  a  yell.  The  min 
ister  stopped  right  there  in  the  middle  of  the  road  with  the 
front  wheels  of  that  auto  not  more'n  two  foot  from  his  old 
baggy  trousers'  knees,  and  says  he, '  Eh  ?  Did  you  want  me, 
Doctor  ? J  The  doctor  fetched  a  long  breath.  '  Why,  no, 
Mr.  Kendall,'  he  says,  '  I  didn't,  brt  I  come  darn  nigh  gettin' 
you/  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of  him  if  he  didn't 
have  Helen  to  look  out  for  him." 

As  they  came  to  know  each  other  better  their  conversation 
dealt  with  matters  more  personal.  They  sometimes  spoke 
of  plans  for  the  future.  Albert's  plans  and  ambitions  were 
lofty,  but  rather  vague.  Helen's  were  practical  and  definite. 
She  was  to  graduate  from  high  school  that  spring.  Then 
she  was  hoping  to  teach  in  the  primary  school  there  in  the 
village ;  the  selectmen  had  promised  her  the  opportunity. 

"  But,  of  course,"  she  said,  u  I  don't  mean  to  stay  here 
always.  When  I  can,  after  I  have  saved  some  money  and 
if  Father  doesn't  need  me  too  badly,  I  shall  go  away  some 
where,  to  Bridgewater,  or  perhaps  to  Radcliffe,  and  study. 
I  want  to  specialize  in  my  teaching,  you  know." 

Albert  regarded  her  with  amused  superiority. 

<4 1  don't  see  why  on  earth  you  are  so  anxious  to  be  a 
school-marm,"  he  said.  "  That's  the  .last  job  I'd  want." 

Her  answer  was  given  promptly,  but  without  the  least 
trace  of  temper.  That  was  one  of  the  most  provoking  things 
about  this  girl,  she  would  not  lose  her  temper.  He  usually 
lost  his  trying  to  make  her.  She  spoke  now,  pleasantly,  and 
deliberately,  but  as  if  she  were  stating  an  undesirable  fact. 

<l  I  think  it  would  be  the  last  one  you  would  get,"  she 
said. 

"  Why?  Great  Scott!  I  guess  I  could  teach  school  if  I 
wanted  to.  But  you  bet  I  wouldn't  want  to!  ...  Now 
what  are  you  laughing  at  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  laughing." 

"  Yes,  you  are.  I  can  always  tell  when  you're  laughing ; 
you  get  that  look  in  your  eyes,  that  sort  of  —  of  —  Oh,  I 
can't  tell  you  what  kind  of  look  it  is,  but  it  makes  me  mad. 


THE  PORTYGEE 


It's  the  same  kind  of  look  my  grandfather  has,  and  I  could 
punch  him  for  it  sometimes.  Why  should  you  and  he  think 
I'm  not  going  to  amount  to  anything?  " 

*'  I  don't  think  so.  And  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  either.  And 
I  wasn't  laughing  at  you.  Or,  if  I  was,  it  —  it  was  only 
because  —  " 

44  Well,  because  what?" 

"  Oh,  because  you  are  so  awfully  sure  you  know  —  well, 
know  more  than  most  people." 

"  Meaning  I'm  stuck  on  myself,  I  suppose.  Well,  now  I 
tell  you  I'm  not  going  to  hang  around  in  this  one-horse  town 
sail  my  life  to  please  grandfather  or  any  one  else." 

When  he  mentioned  his  determination  to  win  literary  glory 
'she  was  always  greatly  interested.  Dreams  of  histrionic 
Achievement  were  more  coldly  received.  The  daughter  of  a 
New  England  country  clergyman,  even  in  these  days  of 
broadening  horizons,  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  look  with 
favor  upon  an  actor's  career. 

June  came  and  with  it  the  first  of  the  summer  visitors. 
For  the  next  three  months  Albert  was  happy  with  a  new  set 
of  acquaintances.  They  were  his  kind,  these  young  folks 
from  the  city,  and  his  spare  moments  were  for  the  most  part 
spent  in  their  society.  He  was  popular  with  them,  too. 
Some  of  them  thought  it  queer  that  he  should  be  living  all 
the  year  in  the  village  and  keeping  books  for  a  concern  like 
Z.  Snow  and  Co.,  but  juvenile  society  is  tolerant  and  a  youth 
who  could  sing  passably,  dance  wonderfully  and,  above  all, 
was  as  beautifully  picturesque  as  Albert  Speranza,  was  wel 
comed,  especially  by  the  girls.  So  the  Saturdays  and  Sun 
days  and  evenings  of  that  summer  were  pleasant  for  him. 
He  saw  little  of  Helen  or  Gertie  Kendrick  while  the  hotel 
or  the  cottages  remained  open. 

Then  came  the  fall  and  another  long,  dreary  winter.  Al 
bert  plodded  on  at  his  desk  or  in  the  yard,  following  Mr. 
Keeler's  suggestions,  obeying  his  grandfather's  orders,  tor 
menting  Issy,  doing  his  daily  stint  because  he  had  to,  not  be 
cause  he  liked  it.  For  amusement  he  read  a  good  deal,  went 
to  the  u^ual  number  of  sociables  and  entertainments,  and 


THE  PORTYGEE  93 

once  took  part  in  amateur  theatricals,  a  play  given  by  the 
church  society  in  the  town  hall.  There  was  where  he  shone. 
As  the  dashing  young  hero  he  was  resplendent.  Gertie 
Kendrick  gazed  upon  him  from  the  third  settee  center  with 
shining  eyes.  When  he  returned  home  after  it  was  over  his 
grandmother  and  Mrs.  Ellis  overwhelmed  him  with  praises. 

"  I  declare  you  was  perfectly  splendid,  Albert !  "  exclaimed 
Olive.  4<  I  was  so  proud  of  you  I  didn't  know  what  to  do." 

Rachel  looked  upon  him  as  one  might  look  upon  a  god 
from  Olympus. 

"  All  I  could  think  of  was  Robert  Penf  old,"  she  said.  "  I 
says  so  to  Laban :  *  Laban,'  says  I,  '  ain't  he  Robert  Penfold 
and  nobody  else?'  There  you  was,  tellin'  that  Hannibal 
Ellis  that  you  was  innocent  and  some  day  the  world  would 
know  you  was,  just  the  way  Robert  Penfold  done  in  the 
book.  I  never  did  like  that  Hannie  Ellis !  " 

Mrs.  Snow  smiled.  "  Mercy,  Rachel,"  she  said,  "  I  hope 
you're  not  blamin'  Hannie  because  of  what  he  did  in  that 
play.  That  was  his  part,  he  had  to  do  it." 

But  Rachel  was  not  convinced.  "  He  didn't  have  to  be  so 
everlastin'  mean  and  spiteful  about  it,  anyhow,"  she  de 
clared.  "  But  there,  that  family  of  Ellises  never  did  amount 
to  nothin'  much.  But,  as  I  said  to  Laban,  Albert,  you  was 
Robert  Penfold  all  over." 

"  What  did  Labe  say  to  that  ?  "  asked  Albert,  laughing. 

*'  He  never  had  a  chance  to  say  nothin'.  Afore  he  could 
answer,  that  Maria  B.  Price  —  she  was  settin'  right  back  of 
me  and  eatin'  molasses  candy  out  of  a  rattly  paper  bag  till  I 
thought  I  should  die  —  she  leaned  forward  and  she  whis 
pered  :  '  He  looks  more  to  me  like  that  Stevie  D.  that  used 
to  work  for  Cap'n  Crowell  over  to  the  Center.  Stevie  D. 
had  curly  hair  like  that  and  he  was  part  Portygee,  you  re 
member  ;  though  there  was  a  little  nigger  blood  in  him,  too,' 
she  says.  I  could  have  shook  her!  And  then  she  went  to 
rattlin'  that  bag  again." 

Even  Mr.  Keeler  congratulated  him  at  the  office  next 
morning.  '*  You  done  well,  Al,"  he  said.  *'  Yes  —  yes  — 
yes.  You  done  fust-rate*  fust-rate." 


94  THE  PORTYGEE 

His  grandfather  was  the  only  one  who  refused  to  en 
thuse. 

"  Well,"  inquired  Captain  Zelotes,  sitting  down  at  his  desk 
and  glancing  at  his  grandson  over  his  spectacles,  "  do  yor. 
cal'late  to  be  able  to  get  down  to  earth  this  mornin'  far 
enough  to  figger  up  the  payroll?  You  can  put  what  you 
made  from  play-actin'  on  a  separate  sheet.  It's  about  as 
much  as  the  average  person  makes  at  that  job,"  he  added. 

Albert's  face  flushed.  There  were  times  when  he  hated 
his  grandfather.  Mr.  Keeler,  a  moment  1ater,  put  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  mustn't  mind  the  old  man,  Al,"  he  whispered.  u  I 
expect  that  seein'  you  last  night  brought  your  dad's  job  back 
to  him  strong.  He  can't  bear  play-actin',  you  know,  on  your 
dad's  account.  Yes  —  yes.  That  was  it.  Yes  —  yes  — 
yes." 

It  may  have  been  a  truthful  explanation,  but  as  an  apology 
it  was  a  limited  success. 

"  My  father  was  a  gentleman,  at  any  rate,"  snapped  Al 
bert.  Laban  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  but  closed  it  again 
and  walked  back  to  his  books. 

In  May,  which  was  an  unusually  balmy  month,  the  Con 
gregational  Sunday  School  gave  an  automobile  excursion 
and  box-luncheon  party  at  High  Point  Light  down  at  Tru- 
met.  As  Rachel  Ellis  said,  it  was  pretty  early  for  picnicking 
but  if  the  Almighty's  season  was  ahead  of  time  there  didn't 
seem  to  be  any  real  good  reason  why  one  of  his  Sunday 
schools  shouldn't  be.  And,  which  was  the  principal  excuse 
for  the  hurry,  the  hotel  busses  could  be  secured,  which 
would  not  be  the  case  after  the  season  opened. 

Albert  went  to  the  picnic.  He  was  not  very  keen  on 
going,  but  his  grandfather  had  offered  him  a  holiday  for  the 
purpose,  and  it  was  one  of  his  principles  never  to  refuse  a 
chance  to  get  away  from  that  office.  Besides,  a  number  of 
the  young  people  of  his  age  were  going,  and  Gertie  Kendrick 
had  been  particularly  insistent. 

:<  You  just  must  come,  Al,"  she  said.  **  It  won't  be  any 
fun  at  all  if  you  don't  come." 


THE  PCRTYGEE  95 

It  is  possible  that  Gertie  found  it  almost  as  little  fun  when 
he  did  come.  He  happened  to  be  in  one  of  his  moods  that 
day;  "  Portygee  streaks,"  his  grandfather  termed  these 
moods,  and  told  Olive  that  they  were  "  that  play-actor 
breakin'  out  in  him."  He  talked  but  little  during  the  rid- 
down  in  the  bus,  refused  to  sing  when  called  upon,  and, 
after  dinner,  when  the  dancing  in  the  pavilion  was  going  on, 
stepped  quietly  out  of  the  side  door  and  went  tramping 
along  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  looking  out  over  the  sea  or 
down  to  the  beach,  where,  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  below, 
the  big  waves  were  curling  over  to  crash  into  a  creamy 
mass  of  froth  and  edge  the  strand  with  lacy  ripples. 

The  high  clay  bluffs  of  Trumet  are  unique.  No  other 
part  of  the  Cape  shows  anything  just  like  them.  High 
Point  Light  crowns  their  highest  and  steepest  point  and  is 
the  flashing  beacon  the  rays  of  which  spell  "  America  "  to 
the  incoming  liner  Boston  bound. 

Along  the  path  skirting  the  edge  of  the  bluff  Albert 
strolled,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  thoughts  almost 
anywhere  except  on  the  picnic  and  the  picnickers  of  the 
South  Harniss  Congregational  Church.  His  particular 
mood  on  this  day  was  one  of  discontent  and  rebellion  against 
the  fate  which  had  sentenced  him  to  the  assistant  book 
keeper's  position  in  the  office  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  At  no 
time  had  he  reconciled  himself  to  the  idea  of  that  position 
as  a  permanent  one;  some  day,  somehow  he  was  going  to 
break  away  and  do  —  marvelous  things.  But  occasionally, 
and  usually  after  a  disagreeable  happening  in  the  office,  he 
awoke  from  his  youthful  day  dreams  of  glorious  futures  to 
a  realization  of  the  dismal  to-day. 

The  happening  which  had  brought  about  realization  in 
this  instance  was  humorous  in  the  eyes  of  two-thirds  of 
South  Harniss's  population.  They  were  chuckling  over  it 
yet.  The  majority  of  the  remaining  third  were  shocked. 
Albert,  who  was  primarily  responsible  for  the  whole  affair, 
was  neither  amused  nor  shocked;  he  was  angry  and  hu 
miliated. 

The  Reverend  Seabury  Calvin,  of  Providence,  R.  L,  had 


96  THE  PORTYGEE 

arrived  in  town  and  opened  his  summer  cottage  unusually 
early  in  the  season.  What  was  quite  as  important,  Mrs. 
Seabury  Calvin  had  arrived  with  him.  The  Reverend  Cal 
vin,  whose  stay  was  in  this  case  merely  temporary,  was 
planning  to  build  an  addition  to  his  cottage  porch.  Mrs. 
Calvin,  who  was  the  head  of  the  summer  "  Welfare  Work 
ers,"  whatever  they  were,  had  called  a  meeting  at  the  Calvin 
house  to  make  Welfare  plans  for  the  season. 

The  lumber  for  the  new  porch  was  ordered  of  Z.  Snow 
and  Co.  The  Reverend  Calvin  ordered  it  himself  in  person. 
Albert  received  the  order. 

"  I  wish  this  delivered  to-morrow  without  fail,"  said  Mr. 
Calvin.  Albert  promised. 

But  promises  are  not  always  easy  to  keep.  One  of  Z. 
Snow  and  Co.'s  teams  was  busy  hauling  lumber  for  the  new 
schoolhouse  at  Bayport.  The  other  Issachar  had  comman 
deered  for  deliveries  at  Harniss  Center  and  refused  to  give 
up  his  claim.  And  Laban  Keeler,  as  it  happened,  was  ab 
sent  on  one  of  his  "  vacations."  Captain  Zelotes  was  at 
tending  a  directors'  meeting  at  Osham  and  from  there  was 
going  to  Boston  for  a  day's  stay. 

"  The  ship's  in  your  hands,  Al,"  he  had  said  to  his  grand 
son.  "  Let  me  see  how  you  handle  her." 

So,  in  spite  of  Albert's  promise,  the  Calvin  lumber  was 
not  delivered  on  time.  The  Reverend  gentleman  called  to 
ask  why.  His  manner  was  anything  but  receptive  so  far 
as  excuses  were  concerned. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said  loftily,  "  I  am  accustomed  to  do 
business  with  business  people.  Did  you  or  did  you  not 
promise  to  deliver  my  order  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  sir,  I  promised,  but  we  couldn't  do  it.     We  — " 

"  I  don't  care  to  know  why  you  didn't  do  it.  The  fact 
that  you  did  not  is  sufficient.  Will  that  order  of  mine  be 
delivered  to-day?  " 

u  If  it  is  a  possible  thing,  Mr.  Calvin,  it — " 

"  Pardon  me.     Will  it  be  delivered  ?  " 

The  Speranza  temper  was  rising.  "  Yes,"  said  the  owner 
of  that  temper,  succinctly. 


THE  PORTYGEE  97 

"  Does  yes  mean  yes,  in  this  case ;  or  does  it  mean  what  it 
meant  before? " 

"  I  have  told  you  why  — " 

"  Never  mind.  Young  man,  if  that  lumber  is  not  deliv 
ered  to-day  I  shall  cancel  the  order.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Albert  swallowed  hard.  "  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Calvin,  that  it 
shall  be  delivered,"  he  said.  "  And  it  will  be." 

But  delivering  it  was  not  so  easy.  The  team  simply  could 
not  be  taken  off  the  schoolhouse  job,  fulfillment  of  a  con 
tract  was  involved  there.  And  the  other  horse  had  gone 
lame  and  Issachar  swore  by  all  that  was  solemn  that  the 
animal  must  not  be  used. 

"  Let  old  Calvin  wait  till  to-morrow,"  said  Issy.  "  You 
can  use  the  big  team  then.  And  Cap'n  Lote'll  be  home, 
besides." 

But  Albert  was  not  going  to  let  *'  old  Calvin  "  wait.  That 
lumber  was  going  to  be  delivered,  if  he  had  to  carry  it  him 
self,  stick  by  stick.  He  asked  Mr.  Price  if  an  extra  team 
might  not  be  hired. 

"  Ain't  none,"  said  Issy.  "  Besides,  where'd  your  grand 
dad's  profits  be  if  you  spent  money  hirin'  extry  teams  to 
haul  that  little  mite  of  stuff?  I've  been  in  this  business  a 
good  long  spell,  and  I  tell  you  — " 

He  did  not  get  a  chance  to  tell  it,  for  Albert  walked  off 
and  left  him.  At  half-past  twelve  that  afternoon  he  en 
gaged  **  Vessie  "  Young  —  christened  Sylvester  Young  and 
a  brother  to  the  driver  of  the  depot  wagon  —  to  haul  the 
Calvin  lumber  in  his  rickety,  fragrant  old  wagon.  Simpson 
Mullen  —  commonly  called  "  Simp  "  —  was  to  help  in  the 
delivery. 

Against  violent  protests  from  Issy,  who  declared  that  Ves 
Young's  rattle-trap  wan't  fit  to  do  nothin'  but  haul  fish  heads 
to  the  fertilizer  factory,  the  Calvin  beams  and  boards  were 
piled  high  on  the  wagon  and  with  Ves  on  the  driver's  seat 
and  Simp  perched,  like  a  disreputable  carrion  crow  on  top 
of  the  load,  the  equipage  started. 

"  There !  "  exclaimed  Albert,  with  satisfaction.  "  He  can't 
say  it  wasn't  delivered  this  time  according  to  promise." 


98  THE  PORTYGEE 

*'  Godfreys !  "  snorted  Issy,  gazing  after  the  departing 
wagon.  "  He  won't  be  able  to  say  nothin'  when  he  sees  that 
git-up  —  and  smells  it.  Ves  carts  everything  in  that  cart 
from  dead  cows  to  gurry  barrels.  Whew  !  I'd  hate  to  have 
to  set  on  that  porch  when  'twas  built  of  that  lumber.  And, 
unless  I'm  mistook,  Ves  and  Simp  had  been  havin'  a  little 
somethin'  strong  to  take,  too." 

Mr.  Prke,  as  it  happened,  was  not  "  mistook."  Mr. 
Young  had,  as  the  South  Harniss  saying  used  to  be,  "  had 
a  jug  come  down "  on  the  train  from  Boston  that  very 
morning.  The  jug  was  under  the  seat  of  his  wagon  and  its 
contents  had  already  been  sampled  by  him  and  by  Simp. 
The  journey  to  the  Calvin  cottage  was  enlivened  by  frequent 
stops  for  refreshment. 

Consequently  it  happened  that,  just  as  Mrs.  Calvin's  gath 
ering  of  Welfare  Workers  had  reached  the  cake  and  choco 
late  stage  in  their  proceedings  and  just  as  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Calvin  had  risen  by  invitation  to  say  a  few  words  of  en 
couragement,  the  westerly  wind  blowing  in  at  the  open  win 
dows  bore  to  the  noses  and  ears  of  the  assembled  faithful  a 
perfume  and  a  sound  neither  of  which  was  sweet. 

Above  the  rattle  and  squeak  of  the  Young  wagon  turning 
in  at  the  Calvin  gate  arose  the  voices  of  Vessie  and  Simp 
uplifted  in  song. 

"  *  Here's  to  the  good  old  whiskey,  drink  'er  daown/  " 
sang  Mr.  Young. 

" '  Here's  to  the  good  old  whiskey, 

Drink  'er  daown ! 
Here's  to  the  good  old  whiskey. 
It  makes  you  feel  so  frisky, 

Drink  'er  — ' 

Git  up  there,  blank  blank  ye!     What  the  blankety  blank 
you  stoppin'  here  for  ?     Git  up !  " 

The  horse  was  not  the  only  creature  that  got  up.  Mrs. 
Calvin  rose  from  her  chair  and  gazed  in  horror  at  the  win 
dow.  Her  husband,  being  already  on  his  feet,  could  not 
rise  but  he  broke  off  short  the  opening  sentence  of  his  "  few 


THE  PQRTYGEE  99 

words  "  and  stared  and  listened.     Each  Welfare  Worker 
stared  and  listened  also. 

"  Git  up,  you  blankety  blank  blank,"  repeated  Ves  Young, 
with  cheerful  enthusiasm.  Mr.  Mullen,  from  the  top  of 
the  load  of  lumber,  caroled  dreamily  on : 

" '  Here's  to  the  good  old  rum, 

Drink  'er  daown ! 
Here's  to  the  good  old  rum, 

Drink  'er  daown ! 
Here's  to  the  good  old  rum, 
Ain't  you  glad  that  you've  got  some  ? 
Drink  'er  daown  !     Drink  'er  daown  ! 

Drink  'er  daown ! '  " 

And  floating,  as  it  were,  upon  the  waves  of  melody  came 
the  odor  of  the  Young  wagon,  an  odor  combining  deceased 
fish  and  late  lamented  cow  and  goodness  knows  what  beside. 

The  dissipated  vehicle  stopped  beneath  the  parlor  windows 
of  the  Calvin  cottage.  Mr.  Young-  called  to  his  assistant. 

•"  Here  we  be,  Simp !  "  he  yelled.  "  A-a-11  ashore  that's 
goin'  ashore !  \7ake  up  there,  you  unmentionably  described 
old  rum  barrel  and  help  unload  this  everlastingly  condemned 
lumber." 

Mr.  Calvin  rushed  to  the  window.  *'  What  does  this 
mean?"  he  demanded,  in  frothing  indignation. 

Vessie  waved  at  him  reassuringly.  **  'Sail  right,  Mr. 
Calvin,"  he  shouted.  "  Here's  ycur  lumber  from  Ze-lotes 
Snow  and  Co.,  South  Harniss,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A.  'Sail  right. 
Let  'er  go,  Simp !  Let  'er  blankety-blank  go !  " 

Mr.  Mullen  responded  with  alacrity  and  a  whoop.  A  half 
dozen  boards  crashed  to  the  ground  beneath  the  parlor  win 
dows.  Mrs.  Calvin  rushed  to  her  husband's  side. 

"  This  is  dreadful,  Seabury !  "  she  cried.  "  Send  those 
creatures  and  —  and  that  horrible  wagon  away  at  once." 

The  Reverend  Calvin  tried  to  obey  orders.  He  com 
manded  Mr.  Young  to  go  away  from  there  that  very  mo 
ment.  Vessie  was  surprised. 

"  Ain't  this  your  lumber  ?  "  he  demanded. 


ioo  THE  PORTYGEE 

<4  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  whether  it  is  or  not,  I  — " 
"  Didn't  you  tell  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  that  this  lumber'd  got 
to  be  delivered  to-day  or  you'd  cancel  the  order?" 
"  Never  mind.     That  is  my  business,  sir.     You  — " 

"  Hold  on !  Ho-o-ld  on !  /  got  a  business,  too.  My 
business  is  deliverin'  what  I'm  paid  to  deliver.  A!  Speranzy 
he  says  to  me :  '  Ves,'  he  says,  '  if  you  don't  deliver  that 
lumber  to  old  man  Calvin  to-day  you  don't  get  no  money,  see. 
Will  you  deliver  it  ?  '  Says  I,  '  You  bet  your  crashety-blank 
life  I'll  (hie)  d'liver  it!  What  I  say  I'll  do,  I'll  do! '  And 
I'm  deliverin'  it,  ain't  I  ?  Hey  ?  Ain't  I  ?  Well,  then,  what 
the  — "  And  so  forth  and  at  length,  while  Mrs.  Calvin  col 
lapsed  half  fainting  in  an  easy-chair,  and  horrified  Welfare 
Workers  covered  their  ears  —  and  longed  to  cover  their 
noses. 

The  lumber  was  delivered  that  day.  Its  delivery  was, 
from  the  viewpoint  of  Messrs.  Young  and  Mullen,  a  suc 
cess.  The  spring  meeting  of  the  Welfare  Workers  was  not 
a  success. 

The  following  day  Mr.  Calvin  called  at  the  office  of  Z. 
Snow  and  Co.  He  had  things  to  say  and  3aid  them.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes,  who  had  returned  from  Boston,  listened.  Then 
he  called  his  grandson. 

"  Tell  him  what  you've  just  told  me,  Mr.  Calvin,"  he  said. 

The  reverend  gentleman  told  it,  with  added  details. 

'*  And  in  my  opinion,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  Captain  Snow," 
he  said,  in  conclusion,  *'  this  young  man  knew  what  he  was 
doing  when  he  sent  those  drunken  scoundrels  to  my  house. 
He  did  it  purposely,  I  am  convinced." 

Captain  Zelotes  looked  at  him. 

"  Why?  "he  asked. 

"Why,  because  —  because  of  —  of  what  I  said  to  him  — 
er  —  er  —  when  I  called  here  yesterday  morning.  He  —  I 
presume  he  took  offense  and  —  and  this  outrage  is  the  result. 
I  am  convinced  that  — " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  What  did  you  say  for  him  to  take 
offense  at  ?  " 

"  I  demanded  that  order  should  be  delivered  as  promised. 


THE  PORTYGEE  101 

I  am  accustomed  to  do  business  with  business  men  and — " 

"  Hold  on  just  a  minute  more,  Mr.  Calvin.  We  don't 
seem  to  be  gettin'  at  the  clam  in  this  shell  as  fast  as  we'd 
ought  to.  Al,  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  all  this  busi 
ness?" 

Albert  was  white,  almost  as  white  as  ivhe.ri  b'e  f Ought'Sain 
Thatcher,  but  as  he  stood  up  to  Sam  so  also  did  he  face,  the 
irate  clergyman.  He  told  of  the  latter's  ,v1s;t  t<>  the  office/ of 
the  threat  to  cancel  the  order  unless  delivery  was  promised 
that  day,  of  how  his  promise  to  deliver  was  exacted,  of  his 
effort  to  keep  that  promise. 

"  I  had  to  deliver  it,  Grandfather,"  he  said  hotly.  "  He 
had  all  but  called  me  a  liar  and  —  and  by  George,  I  wasn't 
going  to  — " 

His  grandfather  held  up  a  warning  hand. 

"  Sshh !     Ssh !  "  he  said.     "  Go  on  with  your  yarn,  boy." 

Albert  told  of  the  lame  horse,  of  his  effort  to  hire  another 
team,  and  finally  how  in  desperation  he  had  engaged  Ves 
Young  as  a  last  resort.  The  captain's  face  was  serious  but 
there  was  the  twinkle  under  his  heavy  brows.  He  pulled 
at  his  beard. 

"  Humph !  "  he  grunted.  "  Did  you  know  Ves  and  Simp 
had  been  drinkin'  when  you  hired  'em  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  didn't.  After  they  had  gone  Issy  said  he 
suspected  that  they  had  been  drinking  a  little,  but  /  didn't 
know  it.  All  I  wanted  was  to  prove  to  him"  with  a  motion 
toward  Mr.  Calvin,  "  that  I  kept  my  word." 

Captain  Zelotes  pulled  at  his  beard.  "  All  right,  Al,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment ;  "  you  can  go." 

Albert  went  out  of  the  private  office.  After  he  had  gone 
the  captain  turned  to  his  irate  customer. 

"  I'm  sorry  this  happened,  Mr.  Calvin,"  he  said,  *'  and  if 
Keeler  or  I  had  been  here  it  probably  wouldn't.  But,"  he 
added,  "  as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  boy  did  what  he  thought  was 
the  best  thing  to  do.  And,"  the  twinkle  reappeared  in  the 
gray  eyes,  *'  you  sartinly  did  get  your  lumber  when  'twas 
promised." 

Mr.  Calvin  stiffened.     He  had  his  good  points,  but  he  suf- 


102  THE  PORTYGEE 

fered  from  what  Laban  Keeler  once  called  "  ingrowin'  im 
portance,",  and  this  ailment  often  affected  his  judgment. 
Also  he  had  to  face  Mrs.  Calvin  upon  his  return  home. 

<l  Do  I  understand,"  he  demanded,  '*  that  you  are  excusing 
that  young  mar  for  putting  that  outrage  upon  me?  " 

'  "  We-11,  a's T^)i,  I'm  sorry  it  happened.  But,  honest,  Mr. 
Calvin.  I  don't  know's^the  boy's  to  blame  so  very  much,  after 
arl. '  :K£  delivered' your  lumber,  and  that's  somethin'." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say,  Captain  Snow  I  Is  that  — 
that  impudent  young  clerk  of  yours  to  go  unpunished  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  guess  likely  he  is." 

"  Then  I  shall  never  buy  another  dollar's  worth  of  your 
house  again,  sir." 

Captain  Zelotes  bowed.  "  I'm  sorry  to  lose  your  trade, 
Mr.  Calvin,"  he  said.  "  Good  mornin'." 

Albert,  at  his  desk  in  the  outer  office,  was  waiting  re- 
belliously  to  be  called  before  his  grandfather  and  upbraided. 
And  when  so  called  he  was  in  a  mood  to  speak  his  mind. 
He  would  say  a  few  things,  no  matter  what  happened  in 
consequence.  But  he  had  no  chance  to  say  them.  Captain 
Zelotes  did  not  mention  th^  Calvin  affair  to  him,  either  that 
day  or  afterward.  Albert  waited  and  waited,  expecting 
trouble,  but  the  trouble,  so  far  as  hi?  grandfather  was  con 
cerned,  did  not  materialize.  He  could  not  understand  it. 

But  if  in  that  office  there  was  silence  concerning  the  un 
usual  delivery  of  the  lumber  for  the  Calvin  porch,  outside 
there  was  talk  enough  and  to  spare.  Each  Welfare  Worker 
talked  when  she  reached  home  and  the  story  spread.  Small 
boys  shouted  after  Albert  when  he  walked  down  the  main 
street,  demanding  to  know  how  Ves  Young's  cart  was 
smellin'  these  days.  When  he  entered  the  post  office  some 
one  in  the  crowd  was  almost  sure  to  hum,  "  Here's  to  the 
good  old  whiskey,  drink  her  down."  On  the  train  on  the 
way  to  the  picnic,  girls  and  young  fellows  had  slyly  nagged 
him  about  it.  The  affair  and  its  consequence  were  the 
principal  causes  of  his  mood  that  day;  this  particular  "  Por- 
tygee  streak  "  was  due  to  it. 

The  path  along  the  edge  of  the  high  bluff  entered  a  grove 


THE  PORTYGEE  103 

of  scraggy  pitch  pines  about  a  mile  from  the  lighthouse  and 
the  picnic  ground.  Albert  stalked  gloomily  through  the 
shadows  of  the  little  grove  and  emerged  on  the  other  side. 
There  he  saw  another  person  ahead  of  him  on  the  path. 
This  other  person  was  a  girl.  He  recognized  her  even  at 
this  distance.  She  was  Helen  Kendall. 

She  and  he  had  not  been  quite  as  friendly  of  late.  Not 
that  there  was  any  unfriendliness  between  them,  but  she 
was  teaching  in  the  primary  school  and,  as  her  father  had 
not  been  well,  spent  most  of  her  evenings  at  home.  During 
the  early  part  of  the  winter  he  had  called  occasionally  but, 
somehow,  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  not  quite  as 
cordial,  or  as  interested  in  his  society  and  conversation  as 
she  used  to  be.  It  was  but  a  slight  indifference  on  her  part, 
perhaps,  but  Albert  Speranza  vvas  not  accustomed  to  indif 
ference  on  the  part  of  his  feminine  acquaintances.  So  he 
did  not  call  again.  He  had  seen  her  at  the  picnic  ground 
and  they  had  spoken,  but  not  at  any  length. 

And  he  did  not  care  to  speak  with  her  now.  He  had 
left  the  pavilion  because  of  his  desire  to  be  alonef  and  that 
desire  still  persisted.  However,  she  was  some  little  distance 
ahead  of  him  and  he  waited  in  the  edge  of  the  grove  until 
she  should  go  over  the  crest  of  the  little  hill  at  the  next  point. 

But  she  did  not  go  over  the  crest.  Instead,  when  she 
reached  it,  she  walked  to  the  very  edge  of  the  bluff  and  stood 
there  looking  off  at  the  ocean.  The  sea  breeze  ruffled  her 
hair  and  blew  her  skirts  about  her  and  she  made  a  pretty 
picture.  But  to  Albert  it  seemed  that  she  was  standing 
much  too  near  the  edge.  She  could  not  see  it,  of  course, 
but  from  where  he  stood  he  could  see  that  the  bank  at  that 
point  was  much  undercut  by  the  winter  rains  and  winds, 
and  although  the  sod  looked  firm  enough  from  above,  in 
reality  there  was  little  to  support  it.  Her  standing  there 
made  him  a  trifle  uneasy  and  he  had  a  mind  to  shout  and 
warn  her.  He  hesitated,  however,  and  as  he  watched  she 
stepped  back  of  her  own  accord.  He  turned,  reentered  the 
grove  and  started  to  walk  back  to  the  pavilion. 

He  had  scarcely  done  so  when  he  heard  a  short  scream 


104  THE  PORTYGEE 

followed  by  a  thump  and  a  rumbling,  rattling  sound.     He 
turned  like  a  flash,  his  heart  pounding  violently. 

The  bluff  edge  was  untenanted.  A  semi-circular  section 
of  the  sod  where  Helen  had  stood  was  missing.  From  the 
torn  opening  where  it  had  been  rose  a  yellow  cloud  of  dust. 


CHAPTER   VI 

A   GOODLY  number  of  the  South  Harniss  "  natives," 
those  who  had  not  seen  him  play  tennis,  would  have 
been  willing  to  swear  that  running  was,  for  Albert 
Speranza,  an  impossibility.     His  usual  gait  was  a  rather 
languid  saunter.     They  would  have  changed  their  minds  had 
they  seen  him  now. 

He  ran  along  that  path  as  he  had  run  in  school  at  the  last 
track  meet,  where  he  had  been  second  in  the  hundred-yard 
dash.  He  reached  the  spot  where  the  sod  had  broken  and, 
dropping  on  his  knees,  looked  fearfully  over.  The  dust  was 
still  rising,  the  sand  and  pebbles  were  still  rattling  in  a  di 
minishing  shower  down  to  the  beach  so  far  below.  But  he 
did  not  see  what  he  had  so  feared  to  see. 

What  he  did  see,  however,  was  neither  pleasant  nor  alto 
gether  reassuring.  The  bluff  below  the  sod  at  its  top 
dropped  sheer  and  undercut  for  perhaps  ten  feet.  Then  the 
sand  and  clay  sloped  outward  and  the  slope  extended  down 
for  another  fifty  feet,  its  surface  broken  by  occasional  cling 
ing  chunks  of  beach  grass.  Then  it  broke  sharply  again,  a 
straight  drop  of  eighty  feet  to  the  mounds  and  dunes  border 
ing  the  beach. 

Helen  had  of  course  fallen  straight  to  the  upper  edge  of 
the  slope,  where  she  had  struck  feet  first,  and  from  there  had 
slid  and  rolled  to  the  very  edge  of  the  long  drop  to  the 
beach.  Her  skirt  had  caught  in  the  branches  of  an  enter 
prising  bayberry  bush  which  had  managed  to  find  roothold 
there,  and  to  this  bush  and  a  clump  of  beach  grass  she  was 
clinging,  her  hands  outstretched  and  her  body  extended  along 
.the  edge  of  the  clay  precipice. 

Albert  gasped. 

"  Helen !  "  he  called  breathlessly. 

105 


106  THE  PORTYGEE 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  up  at  him.  Her  face 
was  white,  but  she  did  not  scream. 

"  Helen ! "  cried  Albert,  again.  "  Helen,  do  you  hear 
me?" 

"  Yes." 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?" 

"  No.     No,  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Can  you  nold  on  just  as  you  are  for  a  few  minutes?  " 

<•  Yes,  I  —  I  think  so." 

"  You've  got  to,  you  know.  Here !  You're  not  going  to 
faint,  are  you  ?  " 

«  NO,  I  —  I  don't  think  I  am." 

"You  can't!  You  mustn't!  Here!  Don't  you  do  it! 
Stop ! " 

There  was  just  a  trace  of  his  grandfather  in  the  way  he 
shouted  the  order.  Whether  or  not  the  vigor  of  the  com 
mand  produced  the  result  is  a  question,  but  at  any  rate  she 
did  not  faint. 

"  Now  you  stay  right  where  you  are,"  he  ordered  again. 
"  And  hang  on  as  tight  as  you  can.  I'm  coming  down." 

Come  down  he  did,  swinging  over  the  brink  with  his  face 
to  the  bank,  dropping  on  his  toes  to  the  upper  edge  of  the 
slope  and  digging  boots  and  fingers  into  the  clay  to  prevent 
sliding  further. 

"  Hang  on !  "  he  cautioned,  over  his  shoulder.  '*  I'll  be 
there  in  a  second.  There!  Now  wait  until  I  get  my  feet 
braced.  Now  give  me  your  hand  —  your  left  hand.  Hold 
on  with  your  right." 

Slowly  and  cautiously,  clinging  to  his  hand,  he  pulled 
her  away  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice  and  helped  her  to 
scramble  up  to  v:here  he  clung.  There  she  lay  and  panted. 
He  looked  at  her  apprehensively. 

"  Don't  go  and  faint  now,  or  any  foolishness  like  that," 
he  ordered  sharply. 

"  No,  no,  I  won't.  I'll  try  not  to.  But  how  are  we  ever 
going  to  climb  up  —  up  there  ?  " 

Above  them  and  at  least  four  feet  out  of  reach,  even  if 
they  stood  up,  and  that  ^uld  be  a  frightfully  risky  pro- 


THE  PORTYGEE  107 

ceeding,  the  sod  projected  over  their  heads  like  the  eaves  of 
a  house. 

Helen  glanced  up  at  it  and  shuddered. 

"  Oh,  how  can  we?  "  she  gasped. 

"  We  can't.     And  we  won't  try." 

"Shall  we  call  for  help?" 

"  Not  much  use.  Nobody  to  hear  us.  Besides,  we  can 
always  do  that  if  we  have  to.  I  think  I  see  a  way  out  of 
the  mess.  If  we  can't  get  up,  perhaps  we  can  get  down." 

"Get  down?" 

"Yes,  it  isn't  all  as  steep  as  it  is  here.  I  believe  we  might 
sort  of  zig-zag  down  if  we  were  careful.  You  hold  on  here 
just  as  you  are;  I'm  going  to  see  what  it  looks  like  around 
this  next  point." 

The  "  point "  was  i..erely  a  projection  of  the  bluff  about 
twenty  feet  away.  He  crawfished  along  the  face  of  the 
slope,  until  he  could  see  beyond  it.  Helen  kept  urging  him 
to  be  careful  —  oh,  be  careful ! 

"Of  course  I'll  be  careful,"  he  said  curtly.  "I  don't 
want  to  break  my  neck.  Yes  —  yes,  by  George,  it  is  easier 
around  there!  We  could  get  down  a  good  way.  Here, 
here ;  don't  start  until  you  take  my  hand.  And  be  sure  your 
feet  are  braced  before  you  move.  Come  on,  now." 

"  I  —  I  don't  believe  I  can." 

"  Of  course  you  can.  You've  got  to.  Come  on.  Don't 
look  down.  Look  at  the  sand  right  in  front  of  you." 

Getting  around  that  point  was  a  decidedly  ticklish  opera 
tion,  but  they  managed  it,  he  leading  the  way,  making  sure 
of  his  foothold  before  moving  and  then  setting  her  foot  in 
the  print  his  own  had  made.  On  the  other  side  of  the  pro 
jection  the  slope  was  less  abrupt  and  extended  much  nearer 
to  the  ground  below.  They  zigzagged  down  until  nearly  to 
the  edge  of  the  steep  drop.  Then  Albert  looked  about  for 
a  new  path  to  safety.  He  found  it  still  farther  on. 

"  It  takes  us  down  farther,"  he  said,  "  and  there  are  bushes 
to  hold  on  to  after  we  get  there.  Come  on,  Helen!  Brace 
up  now,  be  a  sport !  " 

She  was  trying  her  best  to  obey  orders,  but  being  a  sport 


io8  THE  PORTYGEE 

was  no  slight  undertaking  under  the  circumstances.  When 
they  reached  the  clump  of  bushes  her  guide  ordered  her  to 
rest. 

"  Just  stop  and  catch  your  breath,"  he  said.  '*  The  rest 
is  going  to  be  easier,  I  think.  And  we  haven't  so  very  far 
to  go." 

He  was  too  optimistic.  It  was  anything  but  easy ;  in  fact, 
the  last  thirty  feet  was  almost  a  tumble,  owing  to  the  clay 
giving  way  beneath  their  feet.  But  there  was  soft  sand  to 
tumble  into  and  they  reached  the  beach  safe,  though  in  a 
dishevelled,  scratched  and  thoroughly  smeared  condition. 
Then  Helen  sat  down  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Her  rescuer  gazed  triumphantly  up  at  the  distant  rim  of 
broken  sod  and  grinned. 

"  There,  by  George !  "  he  exclaimel  "  We  did  it,  didn't 
we  ?  Say,  that  was  fun !  " 

She  removed  her  hands  and  looked  at  him. 

"  What  did  you  say  it  was  ?  "  she  faltered. 

*'  I  said  it  was  fun.  It  was  great !  Like  something  out 
of  a  book,  eh?" 

She  began  to  laugh  hysterically.  He  turned  to  her  in  in 
dignant  surprise.  "  What  are  you  laughing  at  ? "  he  de 
manded. 

"  Oh  —  oh,  don't,  please!  Just  let  me  laugh.  If  I  don't 
laugh  I  shall  cry,  and  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  Just  don't 
talk  to  me  for  a  few  minutes,  that's  all." 

When  the  few  minutes  were  over  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Now  we  must  get  back  to  the  pavilion,  I  suppose,"  she 
said.  "  My,  but  we  are  sights,  though !  Do  let's  see  if  we 
can't  make  ourselves  a  little  more  presentable." 

She  did  her  best  to  wipe  off  the  thickest  of  the  clay  smears 
with  her  handkerchief,  but  the  experiment  was  rather  a 
failure.  As  they  started  to  walk  back  along  the  beach  she 
suddenly  turned  to  him  and  said : 

**  I  haven't  told  you  how  —  how  much  obliged  I  am  for  — 
for  what  you  did.  If  you  hadn't  come,  I  don't  know  what 
would  have  happened  to  me." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  answered  lightly.     He  was  rev- 


THE  PORTYGEE  109 

eling  in  the  dramatic  qualities  of  the  situation.  She  did  not 
speak  again  for  some  time  and  he,  too,  walked  on  in  silence 
enjoying  his  day  dream.  Suddenly  he  became  aware  that 
she  was  looking  at  him  steadily  and  with  an  odd  expression 
on  her  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why  do  you  look  at  me  that 
way?" 

Her  answer  was,  as  usual,  direct  and  frank. 

'*  I  was  thinking  about  you,"  she  said.  "  I  was  thinking 
that  I  must  have  been  mistaken,  partly  mistaken,  at 
least." 

"  Mistaken  ?    About  me,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  you  were  —  well, 
one  sort  of  fellow,  and  now  I  see  that  you  are  an  entirely 
different  sort.  That  is,  you've  shown  that  you  can  be  dif 
ferent." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"Why,  I  mean  —  I  mean  —  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  had  better 
not  say  it.  You  won't  like  it,  and  will  think  I  had  better 
mind  my  own  affairs  —  which  I  should  do,  of  course." 

*'  Go  on ;  say  it." 

She  looked  at  him  again,  evidently  deliberating  whether 
or  mt  to  speak  her  thought.  Then  she  said : 

**  Well,  I  will  say  it.  Not  that  it  is  really  my  business, 
but  because  in  a  way  it  is  begging  your  pardon,  and  I  ought 
to  do  that.  You  see,  I  had  begun  to  believe  that  you  were  — 
that  you  were  —  well,  that  you  were  not  very  —  very  active, 
you  know." 

"Active?     Say,  look  here,  Helen!    What—" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  wonder  you  don't  understand.  I  mean 
that  you  were  rather  —  rather  fond  of  not  doing  much  — 
of  — of— " 

<4  Eh  ?  Not  doing  much  ?  That  I  was  lazy,  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Why,  not  exactly  lazy,  perhaps,  but  —  but  -  Oh,  how 
can  I  say  just  what  I  mean !  I  mean  that  you  were  always 
saying  that  you  didn't  like  the  work  in  your  grandfathef's 
office." 


no  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Which  I  don't." 

"  And  that  some  day  you  were  going  to  do  something 
else." 

"  Which  I  am." 

"  Write  or  act  or  do  something  — " 

"  Yes,  and  that's  true,  too." 

"  But  you  don't,  you  know.  You  don't  do  anything. 
You've  been  talking  that  way  ever  since  I  knew  you,  calling 
this  a  one-horse  town  and  saying  how  you  hated  it,  and  that 
you  weren't  going  to  waste  your  life  here,  and  all  that,  but 
you  keep  staying  here  and  doing  just  the  same  things.  The 
last  long  talk  we  had  together  you  told  me  you  knew  you 
could  write  poems  and  plays  and  all  sorts  of  things,  you 
just  felt  that  you  could.  You  were  going  to  begin  right 
away.  You  said  that  some  months  ago,  and  you  haven't 
done  any  writing  at  all.  Now.  have  you  ?  " 

'*  No-o.     No,  but  that  doesn't  mean  I  shan't  by  and  by." 

"'  But  you  didn't  begin  as  you  said  you  would.  That  was 
last  spring,  more  than  a  year  ago,  and  I  don't  believe  you 
hav2  tried  to  write  a  single  poem.  Have  you?" 

He  was  beginning  to  be  ruffled.  It  was  quite  unusual  for 
any  one,  most  of  all  for  a  girl,  to  talk  to  him  in  this  way. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have,"  he  said  loftily.  "  And,  any 
way,  I  don't  see  that  it  is  —  is  — " 

"  My  business  whether  you  have  or  not.  I  know  it  isn't. 
I'm  sorr}'  I  spoke.  But,  you  see,  I  —  Oh,  well,  never  mind. 
And  I  do  want  you  to  know  how  much  I  appreciate  your 
helping  me  as  you  did  just  now.  I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you  for  that." 

But  thanks  were  not  exactly  what  he  wanted  at  that  mo 
ment. 

"  Go  ahead  and  say  the  rest,"  he  ordered,  after  a  short 
pause.  '*  You've  said  so  much  that  you  had  better  finish  it, 
seems  to  me.  I'm  lazy,  you  think.  What  else  am  I  ?  " 

"  You're  brave,  awfully  brave,  and  you  are  so  strong  and 
quick  —  yes,  and  —  and  —  masterful;  I  think  that  is  the 
right  word.  You  ordered  me  about  as  if  I  were  a  little  girl. 
I  didn't  want  to  keep  still,  as  you  told  me  to ;  I  wanted  to 


THE  PORTYGEE  in 

scream.  And  I  wanted  to  faint,  too,  but  you  wouldn't  let 
me.  I  had  never  seen  you  that  way  before.  I  didn't 
know  you  could  be  like  that.  That  is  what  surprises  me  so. 
That  is  why  I  said  you  were  so  different." 

Here  was  balm  for  wounded  pride.     Albert's  chin  lifted. 

"  Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  he  said.  "  Whatever  had  to  be 
done  must  be  done  right  off,  I  could  see  that.  You  couldn't 
hang  on  where  you  were  very  long." 

She  shuddered.  "  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  could  not.  But  / 
couldn't  think  what  to  do,  and  you  could.  Yes,  and  did  it, 
and  made  me  do  it." 

The  chin  lifted  still  more  and  the  Speranza  chest  began  to 
expand.  Helen's  next  remark  was  in  the  nature  of  a  re 
ducer  for  the  said  expansion. 

*'  If  you  could  be  so  prompt  and  strong  and  —  and  ener 
getic  then,*'  she  said,  "  I  can't  help  wondering  why  you  aren't 
like  that  all  the  time.  I  had  begun  to  think  you  were  just  — 
just—" 

"  Lazy,  e!i  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Why —  why,  no-o,  but  careless  and  indifferent  and  with 
not  much  ambition,  certainly.  You  had  talked  so  much 
about  writing  and  yet  you  never  tried  to  write  anything,  that 
that—" 

"  That  you  thought  I  was  all  bluff.  Thanks !  Any  more 
compliments  ?  " 

She  turned  on  him  impulsively.  '*  Oh,  do:/t !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  '*  Please  don't !  I  know  what  I  am  saying  sounds 
perfectly  horrid,  and  especially  now  when  you  have  just 
saved  n?Q  from  being  badly  hurt,  if  not  killed.  But  don't 
you  see  that  —  that  I  am  saying  it  because  I  am  interested  in 
you  and  sure  you  could  do  so  much  if  you  only  would?  If 
ycu  would  only  try." 

This  speech  was  a  compound  of  sweet  and  bitter.  Albert 
characteristically  selected  the  sweet. 

"  Helen,"  he  asked,  in  his  most  confidential  tone,  **  would 
you  like  to  have  me  try  and  write  something?  Say,  would 
you?" 

'*  Of  course  J.  would.     Oh,  will  you?  " 


H2  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Well,  if  you  asked  me  I  might.  For  your  sake,  you 
know." 

She  stopped  and  stamped  her  foot  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  .silly !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  want  you 
to  do  it  for  my  sake.  I  want  you  to  do  it  for  your  own 
sake.  Yes,  and  for  your  grandfather's  sake." 

44  My  grandfather's  sake !  Great  Scott,  why  do  you 
drag  him  in  ?  He  doesn't  want  me  to  write  poetry." 

"  He  wants  you  to  do  something,  to  succeed.  I  know 
that." 

<4  He  wants  me  to  stay  here  and  help  Labe  Keeler  and 
Issy  Price.  He  wants  me  to  spend  all  my  life  in  that  office 
of  his;  that's  what  he  wants.  Now  hold  on,  Helen!  I'm 
not  saying  anything  against  the  old  fellow.  He  doesn't  like 
me,  I  know,  but  — " 

"  You  don't  know.  He  does  like  you.  Or  he  wants  to 
like  you  very  much  indeed.  He  would  like  to  have  you 
carry  on  the  Snow  Company's  business  after  he  has  gone, 
but  if  you  can't  —  or  won't  —  do  that,  I  know  Lie  would  be 
very  happy  to  see  you  succeed  at  anything  —  anything." 

Albert  laughed  scornfully.  '*  Even  at  writing  poetry  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Why,  yes,  at  writing ;  although  of  course  he  doesn't 
know  a  thing  about  it  and  can't  understand  how  any  one  can 
possibly  earn  a  living  that  way.  He  has  read  or  heard  about 
poets  and  authors  starving  in  garrets  and  he  thinks  they're 
all  like  that.  But  if  you  could  only  show  him  and  prove  to 
him  that  you  could  succeed  by  writing,  he  would  be  prouder 
of  you  than  any  one  else  would  be.  I  know  it." 

He  regarded  her  curiously.  "  You  seem  to  know  a  lot 
about  my  grandfather,"  he  observed. 

"  I  do  know  something  about  him.  He  and  I  have  been 
friends  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  I  like  him  very 
much  indeed.  If  he  were  my  grandfather  I  should  be  proud 
of  him.  And  I  think  you  ought  to  be." 

She  flashed  the  last  sentence  at  him  in  a  sudden  heat  of 
enthusiasm.  He  was  surprised  at  her  manner. 

"  Gee !     You  are  strong  for  the  old  chap,  aren't  you?  "  he 


THE  PORTYGEE  113 

said.  "  Well,  admitting  that  he  is  all  right,  just  why  should 
I  be  proud  of  him?  I  am  proud  of  my  father,  of  course; 
he  was  somebody  in  the  world." 

"  You  mean  he  was  somebody  just  because  he  vvas  cele 
brated  and  lots  of  people  knew  about  him.  Celebrated 
people  aren't  the  only  ones  who  do  worth  while  things.  If  I 
were  you,  I  should  be  proud  of  Captain  Zelotes  because  he  is 
what  he  has  made  himself.  Nobody  helped  him ;  he  did  it 
all.  He  was  a  sea  captain  and  a  good  one.  He  has  been  a 
business  man  and  a  good  one,  even  if  the  business  isn't  so 
very  big.  Everybody  here  in  South  Harniss  —  yes,  and  all 
up  and  down  the  Cape  —  knows  of  him  and  respects  him. 
My  father  says  in  all  the  years  he  has  preached  in  his  church 
he  has  never  heard  a  single  person  as  much  as  hint  that 
Captain  Snow  wasn't  absolutely  honest,  absolutely  brave, 
and  the  same  to  everybody,  rich  or  poor.  And  all  his  life 
he  has  worked  and  worked  hard.  What  he  has  belongs  to 
him ;  he  has  earned  it.  That's  why  I  should  be  proud  of  him 
if  he  were  my  grandfather." 

Her  enthusiasm  had  continued  all  through  this  long 
speech.  Albert  whistled. 

"  Whew !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Regular  cheer  for  Zelotes, 
fellows  !  One  —  two  —  !  Grandfather's  got  one  person  to 
stand  up  for  him,  I'll  say  that.  But  why  this  sudden  out 
break  about  him,  anyhow?  It  was  me  you  were  talking 
about  in  the  beginning  —  though  I  didn't  notice  any  loud 
calls  for  cheers  in  that  direction,"  he  added. 

She  ignored  the  last  part  of  the  speech.  "  I  think  you 
yourself  made  me  think  of  him,"  she  replied.  '*  Sometimes 
you  remind  me  of  him.  Not  often,  but  once  in  a  while. 
Just  now,  when  we  were  climbing  down  that  awful  place 
you  seemed  almost  exactly  like  him.  The  way  you  knew 
just  what  to  do  all  the  time,  and  your  not  hesitating  a  min 
ute,  and  the  way  you  took  command  of  the  situation  and," 
with  a  sudden  laugh,  "  bossed  me  around ;  every  bit  of  that 
was  like  him,  and  not  like  you  at  all.  Oh,  I  don't  mean 
that,"  she  added  hurriedly.  "  I  mean  it  wasn't  like  you  as 
you  usually  are.  It  was  different." 


H4  THE  PORTYGEE 

— — — — — — — — — — I——. — — _ __ _ _. _ _ ___ 

"  Humph !  Well,  I  must  say  -  See  here,  Helen  Ken 
dall,  what  is  it  you  expect  me  to  do ;  sail  in  and  write  two  or 
three  sonnets  and  a  *'  Come  Into  the  Garden,  Maud/  some 
time  next  week?  You're  terribly  keen  about  Grandfather, 
but  he  has  rather  got  the  edge  on  me  so  far  as  age  goes. 
He's  in  the  sixties,  and  I'm  just  about  nineteen." 

"  When  he  was  nineteen  he  was  first  mate  of  a  ship." 

"  Yes,  so  I've  heard  him  say.  Maybe  first-mating  is  a 
little  bit  easier  than  writing  poetry." 

"  And  maybe  it  isn't.  At  any  rate,  he  didn't  know  whether 
it  was  easy  or  not  until  he  tried.  Oh,  that's  what  I  would 
like  to  see  you  do  —  try  to  do  something.  You  could  do  it, 
too,  almost  anything  you  tried,  I  do  believe.  I  am  confident 
you  could.  But  —  Oh,  well,  as  you  said  at  the  beginning, 
it  isn't  my  business  at  all,  and  I've  said  ever  and  ever  so 
much  more  than  I  meant  to.  Please  forgive  me,  if  you 
oan.  I  think  my  tumble  and  all  the  rest  must  have  made  me 
silly.  I'm  sorry,  Albert.  There  are  the  steps  up  to  the 
pavilion.  See  them !  " 

He  was  tramping  on  beside  her,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
He  did  not  look  at  the  long  flight  of  steps  which  had  sud 
denly  come  into  view  around  the  curve  of  the  bluff.  Wlien 
he  did  look  up  and  speak  it  was  in  a  different  tone,  some 
such  tone  as  she  had  heard  him  use  during  her  rescue. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  with  decision,  "  I'll  show  you  whether 
I  can  try  or  not.  I  know  you  think  I  won't,  but  I  will.  I'm 
going  up  to  my  room  to-night  and  I'm  going  to  try  to  write 
something  or  other.  It  may  be  the  rottcnest  poem  that  ever 
was  ground  out,  but  I'll  grind  it  if  it  kills  me." 

She  was  pleased,  that  was  plain,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  to-night,  Albert,"  she  said.  "  To-night,  after  the 
picnic,  is  Father's  reception  at  the  church.  Of  course  you'll 
come  to  that." 

"  Of  course  I  won't.     Look  here,  you've  called  me  lazy 
and  indifferent  and  a  hundred  other  pet  names  this  after 
noon.     Well,  this  evening  I'll  make  you  take  some  of  'em 
back.     Reception  be  hanged !     I'm  going  to  write  to-night." 
That  evening  both  Mrs.  Snow  and  Rachel  Ellis  were  much 


THE  PORTYGEE  115 

disturbed  because  Albert,  pleading  a  headache,  begged  off 
from  attendance  at  the  reception  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Ken 
dall.  Either,  or  both  ladies  would  have  been  only  too  will 
ing  to  remain  at  home  and  nurse  the  sufferer  through  his 
attack,  but  he  refused  to  permit  the  sacrifice  on  their  part. 
After  they  had  gone  his  headache  disappeared  and,  supplied 
with  an  abundance  of  paper,  pens  and  ink,  he  sat  down  at 
the  table  in  his  room  to  invoke  the  Muse.  The  invocation 
lasted  until  three  A.  M.  At  that  hour,  with  a  genuine  head 
ache,  but  a  sense  of  triumph  which  conquered  pain,  Albert 
climbed  into  bed.  Upon  the  table  lay  a  poem,  a  six  stanza 
poem,  having  these  words  at  its  head : 

To  MY  LADY'S  SPRING  HAT 
By  A.  M.  Speranza. 

The  following  forenoon  he  posted  that  poem  to  the  editor 
of  The  Cape  Cod  Item.  And  three  weeks  later  it  appeared 
in  the  pages  of  that  journal.  Of  course  there  was  no  pe 
cuniary  recompense  for  its  author,  and  the  fact  was  indis 
putable  that  the  Item  was  generally  only  too  glad  to  publish 
contributions  which  helped  to  fill  its  columns.  But,  never 
theless,  Albert  Speranza  had  written  a  poem  and  that  poem 
had  been  published. 


CHAPTER   VII 

IT  was  Rachel  who  first  discovered  "To  My  Lady's 
Spring  Hat "  in  the  Item  three  weeks  later.  She  came 
rushing  into  the  sitting  room  brandishing  the  paper. 

"  My  soul !     My  soul !     My  soul !  "  she  cried. 

Olive,  sitting  sewing  by  the  window,  was,  naturally,  some 
what  startled.  "  Mercy  on  us,  Rachel !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"What  wit?" 

**  Look !  "  cried  the  housekeeper,  pointing  to  the  contribu 
tion  in  the  <4  Poets'  Corner  "  as  Queen  Isabella  may  have 
pointed  at  the  evidence  of  her  protege's  discovery  of  a  new 
world.  "Look!" 

Mrs.  Snow  looked,  read  the  verses  to  herself,  and  then 
aloud. 

"  Why,  I  declare,  they're  real  sort  of  pretty,  ain't  they  ?  " 
she  exclaimed,  in  astonished  admiration. 

"  Pretty !  They're  perfectly  elegant !  And  right  here  in 
the  paper  for  all  hands  to  see.  Ain't  you  proud  of  him, 
Mrs.  Snow?  " 

Olive  had  been  growing  more  and  more  proud  of  her 
handsome  grandson  ever  since  his  arrival.  She  was  prouder 
still  now  and  said  so.  Rachel  nodded,  triumphantly. 

"  He'll  be  a  Robert  Penfold  afore  he  dies,  or  I  miss  my 
guess !  "  she  declared. 

She  showed  it  to  feminine  acquaintances  all  over  town, 
and  Olive,  when  callers  came,  took  pains  to  see  that  a  copy 
of  the  Item,  folded  with  the  "  Poets'  Corner "  uppermost, 
lay  on  the  center  table.  Customers,  dropping  in  at  the  of 
fice,  occasionally  mentioned  the  poem  to  its  author. 

"  See  you  had  a  piece  in  the  Item,  Al,"  was  their  usual 
way  of  referring  to  it.  **  Pretty  cute  piece  'twas,  too,  seemed 
to  me.  Say,  that  girl  of  yours  must  have  some  spring  bun- 
nit.  Ho,  ho!" 

116 


THE  PORTYGEE  117 

Issachar  deigned  to  express  approval,  approval  qualified 
with  discerning  criticism  of  course,  but  approval  neverthe 
less. 

"  Pretty  good  piece,  Al,"  he  observed.  *'  Pretty  good. 
Glad  to  see  you  done  so  well.  Course  you  made  one  little 
mistake,  but  'twan't  a  very  big  one.  That  part  where  you 
said —  What  was  it,  now?  Where'd  I  put  that  piece  of 
poetry  ?  Oh,  yes,  here  'tis !  Where  you  said  —  er  —  er  — 

'  It  floats  upon  her  golden  curls 
As  froth  upon  the  wave/ 

Now  of  course  nothin'  —  a  hat  or  nothin'  else  —  is  goin'  to 
float  on  top  of  a  person's  head.  Froth  floatin',  that's  all 
right,  you  understand ;  but  even  if  you  took  froth  right  out 
of  the  water  and  slapped  it  up  onto  anybody's  hair  'twouldn't 
'float  up  there.  If  you'd  said, 

'  It  sets  up  onto  her  golden  curls, 

Same  as  froth  sets  on  top  of  a  wave.' 

that  would  have  been  all  right  and  true.  But  there,  don't 
feel  bad  about  it.  It's  only  a  little  mistake,  same  as  any 
body's  liable  to  make.  Nine  persons  out  of  ten  wouldn't 
have  noticed  it.  I'm  extry  partic'lar,  I  presume  likely.  I'm 
findin'  mistakes  like  that  all  the  time." 

Laban's  comment  was  less  critical,  perhaps,  but  more  re 
served. 

"  It's  pretty  good,  Al,"  he  said.  "  Yes  —  er  —  yes,  sir, 
it's  pretty  good.  It  ain't  all  new,  there's  some  of  it  that's 
been  written  before,  but  I  rather  guess  that  might  have  been 
said  about  Shakespeare's  poetry  when  he  fust  commenced. 
It's  pretty  good,  Al.  Yes  —  yes,  yes.  It  is  so." 

Albert  was  inclined  to  resent  the  qualified  strain  in  the 
bookkeeper's  praise.  He  was  tempted  to  be  sarcastic. 

*'  Well,"  he  observed,  "  of  course  you've  read  so  much 
real  poetry  that  you  ought  to  know." 

Laban  nodded,  slowly.  "  I've  read  a  good  deal,"  he  said 
quietly.  *'  Readin'  is  one  of  the  few  things  I  ain't  made  a 


n8  THE  PORTYGEE 

failure  of  in  this  life.  Um-hm.  One  of  the  few.  Yes  — 
yes  —  yes." 

He  dipped  his  pen  in  the  inkwell  and  carefully  made  an 
entry  in  the  ledger.  His  assistant  felt  a  sudden  pang  of 
compunction. 

*'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Keeler,"  he  said.  "  That  was 
pretty  fresh  of  me.  I'm  sorry." 

Laban  looked  up  in  mild  surprise.  "  Sorry  ?  "  he  repeated. 
"What  for?  ...  Oh,  that's  all  right,  Al,  that's  all  right. 
Lord  knows  I'm  the  last  one  on  earth  who'd  ought  to  criti 
cize  anybody.  All  I  had  in  mind  in  sayin'  what  I  did  was  to 
—  well,  to  kind  of  keep  you  from  bein'  too  well  satisfied 
and  not  try  harder  on  the  next  one.  It  don't  pay  to  be  too 
well  satisfied.  .  .  .  Years  ago,  I  can  remember,  /  was 
pretty  well  satisfied  —  with  myself  and  my  work.  Sounds 
like  a  joke,  I  know,  but  'twas  so.  ...  Well,  I've  had  a  nice 
long  chance  to  get  over  it.  Um-hm.  Yes  —  yes.  So  I 
have,  so  I  have." 

Only  Captain  Zelotes  at  first  said  nothing  about  the  poem. 
He  read  it,  his  wife  saw  to  that,  but  his  comment  even  to  her 
was  a  non-committal  grunt. 

"But  don't  you  think  it's  real  sort  of  pretty,  Zelotes?" 
she  asked. 

The  captain  grunted  again.  "  Why,  I  g;;ess  likely  'tis  if 
you  say  so,  Mother.  I  don't  know  much  about  such  things  " 

'  But  everybody  says  it  is." 

"  Want  to  know !  Well,  then  'twon't  make  much  differ 
ence  whether  I  say  it  or  not." 

"  But  ain't  you  goin'  to  say  a  word  to  Albert  about  it, 
Zelotes?" 

"  Humph !     I  don't  know's  I  know  what  to  say." 

"  Why,  say  you  like  it." 

"  Ye-es,  and  if  I  do  he'll  keep  on  writin'  more.  That's 
exactly  what  I  don't  want  him  to  do.  Come  now,  Mother, 
be  sensible.  This  piece  of  his  may  be  good  or  it  may  not,  I 
wouldn't  undertake  to  say.  But  this  I  do  know:  I  don't 
want  the  boy  to  spend  his  time  wriLn'  poetry  slush  for  that 
'  Poets'  Corner.'  Letitia  Makepeace  did  that  —  she  had  a 


THE  PCRTYGEE  119 

piece  in  there  about  every  week  —  and  she  died  in  the  Taun- 
ton  asylum." 

"  But,  Zelotes,  it  wasn't  her  poetry  got  her  into  the  asy 
lum." 

"  Wan't  it?  Well,  she  was  in  the  poorhouse  afore  that. 
I  don't  know  whether  'twas  her  poetryin'  that  got  her  in 
there,  but  I  know  darned  well  it  didn't  get  her  out" 

"  But  ain't  you  goin'  to  say  one  word  ?  *T would  enjjpur- 
age  him  so." 

"  Good  Lord !  We  don't  want  to  encourage  him,  do  we  ? 
If  he  was  takin'  to  thievin'  you  wouldn't  encourage  him  in 
that,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Thievin' !  Zelotes  Snow,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you 
compare  a  poet  to  a  thief ! " 

The  captain  grinned.  "  No-o,  Mother,"  he  observed 
drily.  "  Sometimes  a  thief  can  manage  to  earn  a  livin'  at 
his  job.  But  there,  there,  don't  feel  bad.  I'll  say  some- 
thin'  to  Al,  long's  you  think  I  ought  to." 

The  something  was  not  much,  and  yet  Captain  Zelotes 
really  meant  it  to  be  kindly  and  to  sound  like  praise.  But 
praioing  a  thing  of  which  you  have  precious  little  under 
standing  and  with  which  you  have  absolutely  no  sympathy 
is  a  hard  job. 

"  See  you  had  a  piece  in  the  Item  this  week,  Al,"  observed 
the  captain. 

"  Why  —  yes,  sir,"  said  Albert. 

"Um-hm.  I  read  it.  I  don't  know  much  about  such 
things,  but  they  tell  me  it  is  pretty  good." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Eh?     Oh,  you're  welcome." 

That  was  all.  Perhaps  considering  its  source  it  was  a 
good  deal,  but  Albert  was  not  of  the  age  where  such  con 
siderations  are  likely  to  be  made. 

Helen's  praise  was  warm  and  enthusiastic.  "  I  knew  you 
could  do  it  if  you  only  would/'  she  declared.  "  And  oh, 
I'm  so  glad  you  did !  Now  you  must  keep  on  trying." 

That  bit  of  advice  v:as  quite  superfluous.  Young  Spe- 
ranza  having  sampled  the  sublime  intoxication  of  seeing 


120  THE  PORTYGEE 

himself  in  print,  was  not  ready  to  sober  off  yet  a  while. 
He  continued  to  bombard  the  Item  with  verses.  They  were 
invariably  accepted,  but  when  he  sent  to  a  New  York  mag 
azine  a  poem  which  he  considered  a  gem,  the  promptness; 
with  which  it  was  returned  staggered  his  conceit  and  was 
in  that  respect  a  good  thing  for  him. 

However,  he  kept  on  trying.  Helen  would  not  have  per 
mitted  him  to  give  up  even  if  he  had  wished.  She  was  quite 
as  much  interested  in  his  literary  aspirations  as  he  was  him 
self  and  her  encouragement  was  a  great  help  to  him.  After 
months  of  repeated  trial  and  repeated  rejection  he  opened 
an  envelope  bearing  the  name  of  a  fairly  well-known  peri 
odical  to  find  therein  a  kindly  note  stating  that  his  poem, 
'*  Sea  Spaces  "  had  been  accepted.  And  a  week  later  came 
a  check  for  ten  dollars.  That  was  a  day  of  days.  Inci 
dentally  it  was  the  day  of  a  trial  balance  in  the  office  and  the 
assistant  bookkeeper's  additions  and  multiplications  con 
tained  no  less  than  four  ghastly  errors. 

The  next  afternoon  there  was  an  interview  in  the  back 
office.  Captain  Zelotes  and  his  grandson  were  the  partici 
pants.  The  subject  discussed  was  "  Business  versus 
Poetry,"  and  there  was  a  marked  difference  of  opinion. 
Albert  had  proclaimed  his  triumph  at  home,  of  course,  had 
exhibited  his  check,  had  been  the  recipient  of  hugs  and 
praises  from  his  grandmother  and  had  listened  to  pseans 
and  hallelujahs  from  Mrs.  Ellis.  When  he  hurried  around 
to  the  parsonage  after  supper,  Helen  had  been  excited  and 
delighted  at  the  good  news.  Albert  had  been  patted  on  the 
back  quite  as  much  as  was  good  for  a  young  man  whose 
bump  of  self-esteem  was  not  inclined  toward  under-develop- 
ment.  When  he  entered  the  private  office  of  Z.  Snow  and 
Co.  in  answer  to  his  grandfather's  summons,  he  did  so 
light-heartedly,  triumphantly,  with  self -approval  written 
large  upon  him. 

But  though  he  came  like  a  conquering  hero,  he  was  nol 
received  like  one.  Captain  Zelotes  sat  at  his  desk,  the  copy 
of  the  Boston  morning  paper  which  he  had  been  reading 
sticking  out  of  the  waste  basket  into  which  it  had  been  sav- 


THE  PORTYGEE  121 

agely  jammed  a  half  hour  before.  The  news  had  not  been 
to  the  captain's  liking.  These  were  the  September  days  of 
1914;  the  German  Kaiser  was  marching  forward  "  mit  Gott " 
through  Belgium,  and  it  began  to  look  as  if  he  could  not  be 
stopped  short  of  Paris.  Consequently,  Captain  Zelotes,  his 
sympathies  from  the  first  with  England  and  the  Allies,  was 
not  happy  in  his  newspaper  reading. 

Albert  entered,  head  erect  and  eyes  shining.  If  Gertie 
Kendrick  could  have  seen  him  then  she  would  have  fallen 
down  and  worshiped.  His  grandfather  looked  at  him  in 
silence  for  a  moment,  tapping  his  desk  with  the  stump  of  a 
pencil.  Albert,  too,  was  silent ;  he  was  already  thinking  of 
another  poem  with  which  to  dazzle  the  world,  and  his  head 
was  among  the  rosy  clouds. 

"  Sit  down,  Al,"  said  Captain  Zelotes  shortly. 

Albert  reluctantly  descended  to  earth  and  took  the  bat 
tered  armchair  standing  beside  the  desk.  The  captain 
tapped  with  his  pencil  upon  the  figure-covered  sheet  of  paper 
before  him.  Then  he  said : 

"  Al,  you've  been  here  three  years  come  next  December, 
ain't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  —  yes,  sir,  I  believe  I  have." 

**  Um-hm,  you  have.  And  for  the  heft  of  that  time 
you've  been  in  this  office." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

'*  Yes.  And  Labe  Keeler  and  I  have  been  dom'  our  best 
to  make  a  business  man  out  of  you.  You  understand  we 
have,  don't  you  ?  " 

Albert  looked  puzzled  and  a  little  uneasy.  Into  his  ro 
seate  dreams  was  just  beginning  to  filter  the  idea  that  his 
grandfather's  tone  and  manner  were  peculiar. 

**  Why,  yes,  sir,  of  course  I  understand  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  I  asked  you  because  I  wasn't  quite  sure  whether 
you  did  or  not.  Can  you  guess  what  this  is  I've  got  on  my 
desk  here?" 

He  tapped  the  figure-covered  sheet  of  paper  once  more. 
Before  Albert  eould  speak  the  captain  answered  his  own 
question. 


122  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  vent  on.  "  It's  one  of  the 
latest  samples  of  your  smartness  as  a  business  man.  I  pre 
sume  likely  you  know  that  Laban  worked  here  in  this  office 
until  three  o'clock  this  mornin',  didn't  you  ?  " 

Albert  did  not  know  it.  Mr.  Keeler  had  told  him  noth 
ing  of  the  sort. 

"Why,  no,"  he  replied.     "Did  he?    What  for?" 

'*  Ye-es,  he  did.  And  what  for?  Why,  just  +o  find  out 
what  was  the  matter  with  his  trial  balance,  that's  all.  When 
one  of  Labe's  trial  balances  starts  out  for  snug  harbor  and 
ends  up  on  a  reef  with  six  foot  of  water  in  her  hold,  nat 
urally  Labe  wants  to  get  her  afloat  and  pumped  dry  as  quick 
as  possible.  He  ain't  used  to  it,  for  one  thing,  and  it  makes 
him  nervous." 

Albert's  uneasiness  grew.  When  his  grandfather's  speech 
became  sarcastic  and  nautical,  the  young  man  had  usually 
found  that  there  was  trouble  coming  for  somebody. 

"I  —  I'm  sorry  Laban  had  to  stay  so  late,"  he  stammered. 
"  I  should  have  been  glad  to  stay  and  help  him,  but  he  didn't 
ask  me." 

"  No-o.  Well,  it  may  possibly  be  that  he  cal'lated  he  was 
carryin'  about  all  your  help  that  the  craft  would  stand,  as 
'twas.  Any  more  might  sink  her.  See  here,  young  fel 
ler — "  Captain  Zelotes  dropped  his  quiet  sarcasm  and 
spoke  sharp  and  brisk :  "  See  here,"  he  said,  "  do  you  real 
ize  that  this  sheet  of  paper  I've  got  here  is  what  stands  for 
a  day's  work  done  by  you  yesterday?  And  on  this  sheet 
there  was  no  less  than  four  silly  mistakes  that  a  child  ten 
years  old  hadn't  ought  to  make,  that  an  able-bodied  idiot 
hadn't  ought  to  make.  But  you  made  'em,  and  they  kept 
Labe  Keeler  here  till  three  o'clock  this  mornin'.  Now 
what  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  ?  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Albert  had  very  little  to  say,  except 
that  he  was  sorry,  and  that  his  grandfather  evidently  did 
not  consider  worth  the  saying.  He  waved  the  protestation 
aside. 

**  Sorry !  "  he  repeated  impatiently.  '*  Of  course  you're 
sorry,  though  even  at  that  I  ain't  sure  you're  sorry  enough. 


THE  PORTYGEE  123 

Labe  was  sorry,  too,  I  don't  doubt,  when  his  bedtime  went 
by  and  he  kept  runnin'  afoul  of  one  of  your  mistakes  after 
another.  I'm  sorry,  darned  sorry,  to  find  out  that  you  can 
make  such  blunders  after  three  years  on  board  here  under 
such  teachin'  as  you've  had.  But  bein'  sorry  don't  help  any 
to  speak  of.  Any  fool  can  be  sorry  for  his  foolishness,  but 
if  that's  all,  it  don't  help  a  whole  lot.  Is  bein'  sorry  the 
best  excuse  you've  got  to  offer?  What  made  you  make  the 
mistakes  in  the  first  place  ?  " 

Albert's  face  was  darkly  red  under  the  lash  of  his  grand 
father's  tongue.  Captain  Zelotes  and  he  had  had  disagree 
ments  and  verbal  encounters  before,  but  never  since  they 
had  been  together  had  the  captain  spoken  like  this.  And 
the  young  fellow  was  no  longer  seventeen,  he  was  twenty. 
The  flush  began  to  fade  from  his  cheeks  and  the  pallor 
which  meant  the  rise  of  the  Speranza  temper  took  its  place. 

"  What  made  you  make  such  fool  blunders  ?  "  repeated 
the  captain.  "  You  knew  better,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  sullenly,  "  I  suppose  I  did." 

"  You  know  mighty  well  you  did.  And  as  nigh  as  I  can 
larn  from  what  I  got  out  of  Laban —  which  wasn't  much; 
I  had  to  pump  it  out  of  him  word  by  word  —  this  ain't  the 
first  set  of  mistakes  you've  made.  You  make  'em  right 
along.  If  it  wasn't  for  him  helpin'  you  out  and  coverin'  up 
your  mistakes,  thi's  firm  would  be  in  hot  water  with  its  cus 
tomers  two-thirds  of  the  time  and  the  books  would  be  fust- 
rate  as  a  puzzle,  somethin'  to  use  for  a  guessin'  match,  but 
plaguey  little  good  as  straight  accounts  of  a  goin'  concern. 
Now  what  makes  you  act  this  way?  Eh?  What  makes 
you?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     See  here,  Grandfather—" 

"  Hold  on  a  minute.  You  don't  know,  eh  ?  Well,  I 
know.  It  ain't  because  you  ain't  smart  enough  to  keep  a 
set  of  books  and  keep  'em  well.  I  don't  expect  you  to  be  a 
Labo  Keeler;  there  ain't  many  bookkeepers  like  him  on  this 
earth.  But  I  do  know  you're  smart  enough  to  keep  my 
books  and  keep  ;em  as  they'd  ought  to  be,  if  you  want  to 
keep  'em.  The  trouble  with  you  is  that  you  don't  want  to. 


124  THE  PORTYGEE 

You've  got  too  much  of  your  good-f or-nothin  — "  Captain 
Lote  pulled  up  short,  cleared  his  throat,  and  went  on: 
"  You've  got  too  much  *  poet '  in  you,"  he  declared,  "  that's 
what's  the  matter." 

Albert  leaned  forward.  "  That  wasn't  what  you  were 
going  to  say,"  he  said  quickly.  "  You  were  going  to  say 
that  I  had  too  much  of  my  father  in  me." 

It  was  the  captain's  turn  to  redden.  "  Eh  ?  "  he  stam 
mered.  '*  Why,  I  —  I  —  How  do  you  know  what  I  was 
goin'  to  say  ?  " 

'*  Because  I  do.  You  say  it  all  the  time.  Or,  if  you  don't 
say  it,  you  look  it.  There  is  hardly  a  day  that  I  don't  catch 
you  looking  at  me  as  if  you  were  expecting  me  to  commit 
murder  or  do  some  outrageous  thing  or  other.  And  I  know, 
too,  that  it  is  all  because  I'm  my  father's  son.  Well,  that's 
all  right;  feel  that  way  about  me  if  you  want  to,  I  can't 
help  it." 

"  Here,  here,  Al !     Hold  on !     Don't  — " 

"  I  won't  hold  on.  And  I  tell  you  this :  I  hate  this  work 
here.  You  say  I  don't  want  to  keep  books.  Well,  I  don't. 
I'm  sorry  I  made  the  errors  yesterday  and  put  Keeler  to  so 
much  trouble,  but  I'll  probably  make  more.  No,"  with  a 
sudden  outburst  of  determination,  "  I  won't  make  any  more. 
I  won't,  because  I'm  not  going  to  keep  books  any  more. 
I'm  througn." 

Captain  Zelotes  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  You're  what?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

"  I'm  through.  I'll  never  work  in  this  office  another  day. 
I'm  through." 

The  captain's  brows  drew  together  as  he  stared  steadily 
at  his  grandson.  He  slowly  tugged  at  his  beard. 

4<  Humph !  "  he  grunted,  after  a  moment.  "  So  you're 
through,  eh  ?  Goin'  to  quit  and  go  somewheres  else,  you 
mean?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Um-hm.     I  see.     Where  are  you  goin'  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  I'm  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of  my 
self  at  this  job  any  longer.  I  can't  keep  books,  and  I  won't 


THE  PORTYGEE  125 

keep  them.  I  hate  business.  I'm  no  good  at  it.  And  I 
won't  stay  here." 

"  I  see.  I  see.  Well,  if  you  won't  keep  on  in  business, 
what  will  you  do  for  a  livin'  ?  Write  poetry  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Um-m.  Be  kind  of  slim  livin',  won't  it  ?  You've  been 
writin'  poetry  for  about  a  year  and  a  half,  as  I  recollect, 
and  so  far  you've  made  ten  dollars." 

*'  That's  all  right.  If  I  don't  make  it  I  may  starve,  as 
you  are  always  saying  that  writers  do.  But,  starve  or  not,  I 
shan't  ask  you  to  take  care  of  me." 

"  I've  taken  care  of  you  for  three  years  or  so." 

*'  Yes.  But  you  did  it  because  —  because  —  Well,  I 
don't  know  why  you  did,  exactly,  but  you  won't  have  to  do 
it  any  longer.  I'm  through." 

The  captain  still  stared  steadily,  and  what  he  saw  in  the 
dark  eyes  which  flashed  defiance  back  at  him  seemed  to 
trouble  him  a  little.  His  tugs  at  his  beard  became  more 
strenuous. 

"Humph!"  he  muttered.  "  Humph!  .  .  .  Well,  Al,  of 
course  I  can't  make  you  stay  by  main  force.  Perhaps  I 
could  —  you  ain't  of  age  yet  —  but  I  shan't.  And  you  want 
to  quit  the  ship  altogether,  do  you  ?  " 

"If  you  mean  this  office  —  yes,  I  do." 

"  I  see,  I  see.  Want  to  quit  South  Harniss  and  your 
grandmother  —  and  Rachel  —  and  Labe  —  and  Helen  — 
and  all  the  rest  of  'em  ?  " 

"  Not  particularly.     But  I  shall  have  to,  of  course." 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Um-hm.  .  .  .  Yes.  Have  you  thought  how 
your  grandmother's  liable  to  feel  when  she  hears  you  are 
goin'  to  clear  out  and  leave  her  ?  " 

Albert  had  not  thought  in  that  way,  but  he  did  now.  His 
tone  was  a  trifle  less  combative  as  he  answered. 

"  She'll  be  sorry  at  first,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  but  she'll 
get  over  it." 

"  Um-hm.  Maybe  she  will.  You  can  get  over  'most  any 
thing  in  time  —  'most  anything.  Well,  and  how  about  me  ? 
How  do  vou  think  I'll  feel?" 


126  THE  PORTYGEE 

Albert's  chin  lifted.  "You!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why, 
you'll  be  mighty  glad  of  it." 

Captain  Zelotes  pkked  up  the  pencil  stump  and  twirled 
it  in  his  fingers.  "  Shall  I  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  think  I  will, 
do  you  ?  " 

*'  Of  course  you  will.     You  don't  like  me,  and  never  did.'" 

"  So  I've  heard  you  say.  Well,  boy,  don't  you  caFlate  I 
like  you  at  least  as  much  as  you  like  me  ?  " 

"  No.  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  like  you  well  enough. 
That  is,  I  should  if  you  gave  me  half  a  chance.  But  you 
don't  do  it.  You  hate  me  because  my  father  — " 

The  captain  interrupted.     His  big  palm  struck  the  desk. 

"  Don't  say  that  again !  "  he  commanded.  "  Look  here, 
if  I  hated  you  do  you  suppose  I'd  be  talkin'  to  you  like  this? 
If  I  hated  you  do  you  cal'late  I'd  argue  when  you  gave  me 
notice?  Not  by  a  jugful!  No  man  ever  came  to  me  and 
said  he  was  goin'  to  quit  and  had  me  beg  him  to  stay.  If 
we  was  at  sea  he  stayed  until  we  made  port ;  then  he  went, 
and  he  didn't  hang  around  waitin'  for  a  boat  to  take  him 
ashore  neither.  I  don't  hate  you,  son.  I'd  ask  nothin' 
better  than  a  chance  to  like  you,  but  you  won't  give  it  to 
me." 

Albert's  eyes  and  mouth  opened. 

"  /  won't  give  you  a  chance  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Sartin.  Do  you  give  me  one?  I  ask  you  to  keep  these 
books  of  mine.  You  could  keep  'em  A  Number  One. 
You're  smart  enough  to  do  it.  But  you  won't.  You  let 
'em  go  to  thunder  and  waste  your  time  makin'  up  fool  poetry 
and  such  stuff." 

"  But  I  like  wi  iting,  and  I  don't  like  keeping  books." 

*'  Keepin'  books  is  a  part  of  1'arnin'  the  business,  and 
business  is  the  way  you're  goin'  to  get  your  livin'  by  and 
by." 

*'  No,  it  isn't.     I  am  going  to  be  a  writer." 

"  Now  don't  say  that  silly  thing  again !  I  don't  want  to 
hear  it." 

"  I  shall  say  it  because  it  is  true." 

*'  Look  here,  boy :  When  I  tell  you  or  anybody  else  in  this 


THE  PORTYGEE  127 

office  to  do  or  not  to  do  a  thing,  I  expect  'em  to  obey  orders. 
And  I  tell  you  not  to  talk  any  more  of  that  foolishness  about 
bein'  a  writer.  D'you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  understand." 

*'  All  right,  then,  that  much  is  settled.  .  .  .  Here ! 
Where  are  you  goin'  ?  " 

Albert  had  turned  and  was  on  his  way  out  of  the  office. 
He  stopped  and  answered  over  his  shoulder,  "  I'm  going 
home,"  he  said. 

*'  Coin'  home?  Why,  you  came  from  home  not  more  than 
an  hour  and  a  half  ago!  What  are  you  goin'  there  again 
now  for?  " 

"  To  pack  up  my  things." 

"  To  pack  up  your  things !  To  pack  up  —  Humph  !  So 
you  really  mean  it !  You're  really  goin'  to  quit  me  like  this  ? 
And  your  grandma,  too !  " 

The  young  man  felt  a  sudden  pang  of  compunction,  a 
twinge  of  conscience. 

"  Grandfather,"  he  said,  "  I'm  sorry.     I  — " 

But  the  change  in  his  attitude  and  tone  came  too  late. 
Captain  Lote's  temper  was  boiling  now,  contradiction  was  its 
worst  provocative. 

"  Goin'  to  quit .'  "  he  sneered.  *'  Goin'  to  quit  because  you 
don't  like  to  work.  All  right,  quit  then !  Go  ahead !  I've 
done  all  I  can  to  make  a  man  of  you.  Go  to  the  devil  in 
your  own  way." 

"  Grandfather,  I  — " 

"  Go  ahead !  /  can't  stop  you.  It's  in  your  breed,  I  cal- 
'late." 

That  was  sufficient.  Albert  strode  out  of  the  private 
office,  head  erect.  Captain  Zelotes  rose  and  slammed  the 
door  after  his  departing  grandson. 

At  ten  that  evening  Albert  was  in  his  room,  sitting  in  a 
chair  by  the  window,  gloomily  looking  out.  The  packing, 
most  of  it,  had  been  done.  He  had  not,  as  he  tcld  his 
grandfather  he  intended  doing,  left  the  office  immediately 
and  come  straight  home  to  pack.  As  he  emerged  from  the 
inner  office  after  the  stormy  interview  with  the  captain  he 


128  THE  PORTYGEE 

found  Laban  Keeler  hard  at  work  upon  the  books.  The 
sight  of  the  little  man,  so  patiently  and  cheerfully  pegging 
away,  brought  another  twinge  of  conscience  to  the  assistant 
bookkeeper.  Laban  had  been  such  a  brick  in  all  their  rela 
tionships.  It  must  have  been  a  sore  trial  to  his  particular, 
business-like  soul,  those  errors  in  the  trial  balance.  Yet  he 
had  not  found  fault  nor  complained.  Captain  Zelotes  him 
self  had  said  that  every  item  concerning  his  grandson's 
mistakes  and  blunders  had  been  dragged  from  Mr.  Keeler 
much  against  the  latter's  will.  Somehow  Albert  could  not 
bear  to  go  off  and  leave  him  at  once.  He  would  stay  and 
finish  his  day's  work,  for  Labe  Keeler's  sake. 

So  stay  he  did  and  when  Captain  Zelotes  later  came  out 
of  his  private  office  and  found  him  there  neither  of  them 
spoke.  At  home,  during  supper,  nothing  was  said  concern 
ing  the  quarrel  of  the  afternoon.  Yet  Albert  was  as  deter 
mined  to  leave  as  ever,  and  the  Captain,  judging  by  the 
expression  of  his  face,  was  just  as  determined  to  do  nothing 
more  to  prevent  him.  After  supper  the  young  man  went  to 
his  room  and  began  the  packing.  His  grandfather  went 
out,  an  unusual  proceeding  for  him,  saying  that  he  guessed 
he  would  go  down  street  for  a  spell. 

Now  Albert,  as  he  sat  there  by  the  window,  was  gloomy 
enough.  The  wind,  howling  and  wailing  about  the  gables 
of  the  old  house,  was  not  an  aid  to  cheerfulness  and  he 
needed  every  aid.  He  had  sworn  to  go  away,  he  was  going 
away  —  but  where  should  he  go?  He  had  a  little  money 
put  by,  not  much  but  a  little,  which  he  had  been  saving  for 
quite  another  purpose.  This  would  take  him  a  little  way, 
would  pay  his  bills  for  a  short  time,  but  after  that  —  Well, 
after  that  he  could  earn  more.  With  the  optimism  of  youth 
and  the  serene  self-confidence  which  was  natural  to  him  he 
was  sure  of  succeeding  sooner  or  later.  It  was  not  the 
dread  of  failure  and  privation  which  troubled  him.  The 
weight  which  was  pressing  upon  his  spirit  was  not  the  fear 
of  what  might  happen  to  him. 

There  was  a  rap  upon  the  door.  Then  a  voice,  the  house 
keeper's  voice,  whispered  through  the  crack. 


THE  PORTYGEE  129 

"  It's  me,  Al,"  whispered  Mrs.  Ellis.  *'  You  ain't  in  bed 
yet,  are  you?  I'd  like  to  talk  with  you  a  minute  or  two, 
if  I  might." 

He  was  not  anxious  to  talk  to  her  or  anyone  else  just 
then,  but  he  told  her  to  come  in.  She  entered  on  tiptoe, 
with  the  mysterious  air  of  a  conspirator,  and  shut  the  door 
carefully  after  her. 

"  May  I  set  down  just  a  minute?"  she  asked.  "I  can 
generally  talk  better  settin'." 

He  pulled  forward  the  ancient  rocker  with  the  rush  seat. 
The  cross-stitch  "  tidy  "  on  the  back  was  his  mother's  handi 
work,  she  had  made  it  when  she  was  fifteen.  Rachel  sat 
down  in  the  rocker. 

"  Al,"  she  began,  still  in  the  same  mysterious  whisper, 
"  I  know  all  about  it." 

He  looked  at  her.     "  All  about  what  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'  About  the  trouble  you  and  Cap'n  Lote  had  this  after 
noon.  I  know  you're  plannin'  to  leave  us  all  and  go  away 
somewheres  and  that  he  told  you  to  go,  and  all  that.  I 
know  what  you've  been  doin'  up  here  to-night.  Fur's  that 
goes,"  she  added,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath  and  a  wave 
of  her  hand  toward  the  open  trunk  and  suitcase  upon  the 
floor,  "  I  wouldn't  need  to  know,  I  could  see" 

Albert  was  surprised  and  confused.  He  had  supposed 
the  whole  affair  to  be,  so  far,  a  secret  between  himself  and 
his  grandfather. 

"  You  know  ?  "  he  stammered.  *'  You  —  How  did  you 
know?" 

"  Laban  told  me.  Labe  came  hurry  in'  over  here  just  after 
supper  and  told  me  the  whole  thing.  He's  awful  upset  about 
it,  Laban  is.  He  thinks  almost  as  much  of  you  as  he  does 
of  Cap'n  Lote  or  —  or  me,"  with  an  apologetic  little  smile. 

Albert  was  astonished  and  troubled.  "  How  did  Labe 
know  about  it  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  He  heard  it  all.     He  couldn't  help  hearin'." 

"  But  he  couldn't  have  heard.  The  door  to  the  private 
office  was  shut." 

4<  Yes,  but  the  window  at  the  top  —  the  transom  one, 


130  THE  PORTYGEE 

you  know  —  was  wide  open.  You  and  your  grandpa  never 
thought  of  that,  I  guess,  and  Laban  couldn't  hop  up  off 
his  stool  and  shut  it  without  givin'  it  away  that  he'd  been 
hearin'.  So  he  had  to  just  set  and  listen  and  I  know  how 
he  hated  doin'  that.  Laban  Keeler  ain't  the  listenin'  kind. 
One  thing  about  it  all  is  a  mercy,"  she  added,  fervently. 
"  It's  the  Lord's  own  mercy  that  that  Issy  Price  wasn't 
where  he  could  hear  it,  too.  If  Issy  heard  it  you  might 
as  well  paint  it  up  on  the  town-hall  fence;  all  creation  and 
his  wife  wouldn't  larn  it  any  sooner." 

Albert  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Well,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment,  "  I'm  sorry  Labe  heard,  but  I  don't  suppose  it 
makes  much  difference.  Everyone  will  know  all  about  it 
in  a  day  or  two  .  .  .  I'm  going." 

Rachel  leaned  forward. 

"  No,  you  ain't,  Al,"  she  said. 

"I'm  not?     Indeed  I  am!     Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  You  ain't  goin'.  You're  goin' 
to  stay  right  here.  At  least  I  hope  you  are,  and  I  think 
you  are.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  know,"  she  added,  quickly,  "  what  you 
are  goin'  to  say.  You're  goin'  to  tell  me  that  your  grandpa 
is  down  on  you  on  account  of  your  father,  and  that  you 
don't  like  bookkeepin',  and  that  you  want  to  write  poetry  and 
—  and  such.  You'll  say  all  that,  and  maybe  its  all  true, 
but  whether  'tis  or  not  ain't  the  point  at  all  just  now.  The 
real  point  is  that  you're  Janie  Snow's  son  and  your  grandpa's 
Cap'n  Lote  Snow  and  your  grandma's  Olive  Snow  and  there 
ain't  goin'  to  be  another  smash-up  in  this  family  if  I  can 
help  it.  I've  been  through  one  and  one's  enough.  Albert, 
didn't  you  promise  me  that  Sunday  forenoon  three  years 
ago  when  I  came  into  the  settin'-room  and  we  got  talkm' 
about  books  and  Robert  Penfold  and  everything  —  didn't 
you  promise  me  then  that  when  things  between  you  and 
your  grandpa  got  kind  of  —  of  snarled  up  and  full^of  knots 
you'd  come  to  me  with  'em  and  we'd  see  if  we  couldn't 
straighten  'em  out  together?  Didn't  you  promise  me  that, 
Albert  ?  " 
Albert  remembered  fhe  conversation  to  which  she  referred. 


THE  PORTYGEE  131 

As  he  remembered  it,  however,  he  had  not  made  any  defi 
nite  promise. 

"  You  asked  me  to  talk  them  over  with  you,  Rachel," 
he  admitted.  "  I  think  that's  about  as  far  as  it  went." 

"  Well,  maybe  so,  but  now  I  ask  you  again.  Will  you 
talk  this  over  with  me,  Albert?  Will  you  tell  me  every 
bit  all  about  it,  for  my  sake?  And  for  your  grandma's 
sake.  .  .  .  Yes,  more'n  that,  for  your  mother's  sake,  Al 
bert;  she  was  pretty  nigh  like  my  own  sister,  Jane  Snow 
was.  Different  as  night  from  day  of  course,  she  was  pretty 
and  educated  and  all  that  and  I  was  just  the  same  then  as 
I  am  now,  but  we  did  think  a  lot  of  each  otner,  Albert.  Tell 
me  the  whole  story,  won't  you,  please.  Just  what  Cap'n 
Lote  said  and  what  you  said  and  what  you  plan  to  do  — 
and  all?  Please,  Albert." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  had  always  liked  her, 
but  it  was  a  liking  with  a  trace  of  condescension  in  it 
She  was  peculiar,  her  "  sympathetic  attacks  "  were  funny, 
and  she  and  Laban  together  were  an  odd  pair.  Now  he 
saw  her  in  a  new  light  and  he  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  real 
affection  for  her.  And  with  this  feeling,  and  inspired  also 
by  his  loneliness,  came  the  impulse  to  comply  with  her  re 
quest,  to  tell  her  all  his  troubles. 

He  began  slowly  at  first,  but  as  he  went  on  the  words 
came  quicker.  She  listened  eagerly,  nodding  occasionally, 
but  saying  nothing,  When  he  had  finished  she  nodded 
again. 

"  I  see,"  she  said.  "  'Twas  almost  what  Laban  said  and 
about  what  he  and  I  expected.  Well,  Albert,  I  ain't  goin' 
to  be  the  one  to  blame  you,  not  very  much  anyhow.  I 
don't  see  as  you  are  to  blame ;  you  can't  help  the  way  you're 
made.  But  your  grandfather  can't  help  bein'  made  his  way, 
either.  He  can't  see  with  your  spectacles  and  you  can't  see 
with  his." 

He  stirred  rebelliously.  "  Then  we  had  better  go  our  own 
ways,  I  should  say,"  he  muttered. 

*'  No,  you  hadn't.  That's  just  what  you  mustn't  do,  not 
now,  anyhow.  As  I  said  before,  there's  been  enough  of  all 


132  THE  PORTYGEE 

hands  goin'  their  Own  ways  in  this  family  and  look  what 
came  of  it." 

"  But  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  I  will  not  give  up 
every  plan  I've  made  and  my  chance  in  the  world  just  be 
cause  he  is  too  stubborn  and  cranky  to  understand  them. 
I  will  not  do  it." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  upset  the 
whole  kettle  just  because  the  steam  has  scalded  your  fingers. 
I  don't  want  you  to  go  off  and  leave  your  grandma  to  break 
her  heart  a  second  time  and  your  grandpa  to  give  up  all 
his  plans  and  hopes  that  he's  been  makin'  about  you." 

"  Plans  about  me  ?  He  making  plans  about  me  ?  What 
sort  of  plans  ?  " 

"  All  sorts.  Oh,  he  don't  say  much  about  'em,  of  course ; 
that  ain't  his  way.  But  from  things  he's  let  drop  I  know 
he  has  hoped  to  take  you  in  with  him  as  a  partner  one  of 
these  days,  and  to  leave  you  the  business  after  he's  gone." 

"  Nonsense,  Rachel !  " 

"  No,  it  ain't  nonsense.  It's  the  one  big  dream  of  Cap'n 
Lote's  life.  That  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  business  is  his  pet  child, 
as  you  might  say.  He  built  it  up,  he  and  Labe  together, 
and  when  he  figgered  to  take  you  aboard  with  him  'twas 
some  chance  for  you,  'cordin'  to  his  lookout.  Now  you 
can't  hardly  blame  him  for  bein'  disappointed  when  you 
chuck  that  chance  away  and  take  to  writin'  poetry  pieces, 
can  you  ?  " 

"  But  —  but  —  why,  confound  it,  Rachel,  you  don't  un 
derstand!" 

*'  Yes,  I  do,  but  your  grandpa  don't.  And  you  don't 
understand  him.  .  .  .  Ch,  Albert,  don't  be  as  stubborn  as 
he  is,  as  your  mother  was  —  the  Lord  and  she  forgive  me 
for  sayin'  it.  She  was  partly  right  about  marryin'  your 
pa  and  Cap'n  Lote  was  partly  right,  too.  If  they  had  met 
half  way  and  put  the  two  *  partlys '  together  the  whole 
thing  might  have  been  right  in  the  end.  As  'twas,  'twas 
all  wrong.  Don't,  don't,  don't,  Albert,  be  as  stubborn  as 
that.  For  their  sakes,  Al, —  yes,  and  for  my  sake,  for  I'm 
one  of  your  family,  too,  or  seems  as  if  I  was  —  don't." 


THE  PORTYGEE  133 

She  hastily  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  He,  too  was 
greatly  moved. 

"  Don't  cry,  Rachel,"  he  muttered,  hurriedly.  "  Please 
don't  ...  I  didn't  know  you  felt  this  way.  I  didn't  know 
anybody  did.  I  don't  want  to  make  trouble  in  the  family  — 
any  more  trouble.  Grandmother  has  been  awfully  good  to 
me ;  so,  too,  has  Grandfather,  I  suppose,  in  his  way.  But  — 
oh,  what  am  I  going  to  do?  I  can't  stay  in  that  office  all 
my  life.  I'm  not  good  at  business.  I  don't  like  it.  I  can't 
give  up  — " 

"  No,  no.  course  you  mustn't.  I  don't  want  you  to  give 
up." 

'*  Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  your  grandpa  and  talk  to  him 
once  more.  Not  givin'  up  your  plans  altogether  but  not 
forcin'  him  to  give  up  his  either,  not  right  away.  Tell  him 
you  realize  he  wants  you  to  go  on  with  Z.  Snow  and  Com 
pany  and  that  you  will  —  for  a  while  — " 

"But—  " 

"  For  a  while,  I  said ;  three  or  four  years,  say.  You 
won't  be  so  dreadful  old  then,  not  exactly  what  you'd  call 
a  Methusalem.  Tell  him  you'll  do  that  and  on  his  side  he 
must  let  you  write  as  much  as  you  please,  provided  you 
don't  let  the  writin'  interfere  with  the  Z.  Snow  and  Co. 
work.  Then,  at  the  end  of  the  three  or  four  years,  if  you 
still  feel  the  same  as  you  do  now,  you  can  tackle  your 
poetry  for  keeps  and  he  and  you'll  still  be  friends.  Tell 
him  that,  Albert,  and  see  what  he  says.  .  .  .  Will  you  ?  " 

Albert  took  some  moments  to  consider.  At  length  he 
said :  "  If  I  did  I  doubt  if  he  would  listen." 

"  Oh,  yes  he  would.  He'd  more  than  listen,  I'm  pretty 
sartin.  I  think  he'd  agree." 

"You  do?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.     You  see,"  with  a  smile,  '*  while  I've  been 
talkin'  to  you  there's  been  somebody  else  talkin'  to  him.  .  .  . 
There,  there !  don't  you  ask  any  questions.     I  promised  not 
to  tell  anybody  and  if  I  ain't  exactly  broke  that  promise, 
I've  sprained  its  ankle,   I'm  afraid.     Good  night,  Albert, 


134  THE  PORTYGEE 

and  thank  you  ever  and  ever  so  much  for  listenin'  so  long 
without  once  tellin'  me  to  mind  my  own  business." 

"  Good  night,  Rachel.  .  .  .  And  thank  you  for  taking 
so  much  interest  in  my  affairs.  You're  an  awfully  good 
friend,  I  can  see  that." 

"  Don't  —  don't  talk  that  way.  And  you  will  have  that 
talk  with  your  grandpa  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  There !  Good  night.  I  come  pretty 
nigh  kissin'  you  then  and  for  a  woman  that's  been  engaged 
to  be  married  for  upwards  of  eighteen  years  that's  a  nice 
way  to  act,  ain't  it !  Good  night,  good  night." 

She  hurried  out  of  the  room.  Albert  sat  down  again  in 
his  chair  by  the  window.  He  had  promised  to  go  to  his 
grandfather  and  talk  to  him.  As  he  sat  there,  thinking  of 
the  coming  interview,  he  realized  more  and  more  that  the 
keeping  of  that  promise  was  likely  to  be  no  easy  matter. 
He  must  begin  the  talk,  he  must  break  the  ice  —  and  how 
should  he  break  it?  Timid  and  roundabout  approaches 
would  be  of  little  use;  unless  his  grandfather's  state  of  mind 
had  changed  remarkably  since  their  parting  in  the  Z.  Snow 
and  Co.  office  they  and  their  motive  would  be  misunder 
stood.  No,  the  only  way  to  break  the  ice  was  to  break 
it,  to  plunge  immediately  into  the  deepest  part  of  the  sub 
ject.  It  promised  to  be  a  chilly  plunge.  He  shivered  at  the 
prospect. 

A  half  hour  later  he  heard  the  door  cf  the  hall  open  and 
shut  and  knew  that  Captain  Zelotes  had  returned.  Rising, 
he  descended  the  stairs.  He  descended  slowly.  Just  as  he 
reached  the  foot  of  the  narrow  flight  Captain  Zelotes  en 
tered  the  hall  from  the  dining-room  and  turned  toward  him. 
Both  were  surprised  at  the  meeting.  Albert  spoke  first. 

'*  Good  evening,  Grandfather,"  he  stammered.  '*  I  —  I 
was  just  coming  down  to  see  you.  Were  you  going  to  bed  ?  " 

Captain  Lote  shook  his  head.  '*  No-o,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  not  exactly." 

"  Do  you  mind  waiting  a  minute  ?  I  have  a  few  things  — 
I  have  someching  to  say  to  you  and  —  and  I  guess  I  shall 


THE  PORTYGEE  135 

sleep  better  if  I  say  it  to-night.     I  —  I  won't  keep  you  long." 

The  captain  regarded  him  intently  for  an  instant,  then  he 
turned  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  ordered,  laconically.  Albert  squared  his 
shoulders,  preparatory  to  the  plunge. 

'*  Grandfather,"  he  began,  "  first  of  all  I  want  to  tell  you 
I  am  sorry  for  —  for  some  of  the  things  I  said  this  after 
noon." 

He  had  rehearsed  this  opening  speech  over  and  over 
again,  but  in  spite  of  the  rehearsals  it  was  dreadfully  hard 
to  make,  if  his  grandfather  had  helped  him  even  a  little 
it  might  have  been  easier,  but  the  captain  merely  stood 
there,  expressionless,  saying  nothing,  waiting  for  him  to 
continue. 

Albert  swallowed,  clenched  his  fists,  and  took  a  new  start. 

'*  Of  course,"  he  began,  (i  I  am  sorry  for  the  mistakes  I 
made  in  my  bookkeeping,  but  that  I  have  told  you  before. 
Now  —  now  I  want  to  say  I  ran  sorry  for  being  so  —  well, 
so  pig-headed  about  the  re.it  of  it.  I  realize  that  you  have 
been  mighty  kind  to  me  and  that  I  owe  you  about  every 
thing  that  I've  got  in  this  world." 

He  paused  again.  It  had  seemed  to  him  that  Captain 
Zelotes  was  about  to  speak.  However,  he  did  not,  so  the 
young  man  stumbled  on. 

*'  And  —  and  I  realize,  too,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have,  I 
guess,  been  trying  to  give  me  a  real  start  in  business,  the 
start  you  think  I  ought  to  have." 

The  captain  nodded  slowly.  *'  That  was  my  idea  in 
startin'  you/*  he  said. 

"  Yes  —  and  fact  that  I  haven't  done  more  with  the  chance 
is  because  I'm  made  that  way,  I  guess.  But  I  do  want  to  — 
yes,  and  I  mean  to  try  to  succeed  at  writing  poetry  or 
stories  or  plays  or  something.  I  like  that  and  I  mean  to  give 
it  a  trial.  And  so  —  and  so,  you  see,  I've  been  thinking  our 
talk  over  and  I've  concluded  that  perhaps  you  may  be  right, 
maybe  I  m  not  old  enough  to  know  what  I  really  am  fitted 
for,  and  yet  perhaps  /  may  be  partly  right,  too.  I  —  I've 
been  thinking  that  perhaps  some  sort  of  —  of  — " 


136  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Of  what?" 

"  Well,  of  half-way  arrangement  —  some  sort  of  —  of 
compromise,  you  know,  might  be  arranged.  I  might  agree 
to  stay  in  the  office  and  do  my  very  best  with  bookkeeping 
and  business  for  —  well,  say,  three  years  or  so.  During 
that  time  I  should  be  trying  to  write  of  course,  but  I  would 
only  do  that  sort  of  writing  evenings  or  on  Saturdays  and 
holidays.  It  shouldn't  interfere  with  your  work  nor  be  done 
in  the  time  you  pay  me  for.  And  at  the  end  of  the  three 
or  four  years  — " 

He  paused  again.  This  time  the  pause  was  longer  than 
ever.  Captain  Lote  broke  the  silence.  His  big  right  hand 
had  wandered  upward  and  was  tugging  at  his  beard. 

"  Well?  .  .       And  then?  "  he  asked. 

"Why,  then  — if  — if—  Well,  then  we  could  see.  If 
business  seemed  to  be  where  I  was  most  likely  to  succeed 
we'd  call  it  settled  and  I  would  stay  with  Z.  Snow  and  Co. 
If  poetry-making  or  —  or  —  literature  seemed  more  likely 
to  be  the  job  I  was  fitted  for,  that  would  be  the  job  I'd  take. 
You  —  you  see,  don't  you,  Grandfather?" 

The  captain's  beard-pulling  continued.  He  was  no  longer 
looking  his  grandson  straight  in  the  eye.  His  gaze  was 
fixed  upon  the  braided  mat  at  his  feet  and  he  answered 
without  looking  up. 

"  Ye-es,"  he  drawled,  "  I  cal'late  I  see.  Well,  was  that 
all  you  had  to  say  ?  " 

"  No-o,  not  quite.  I  —  I  wanted  to  say  that  which  ever 
way  it  turned  out,  I  —  I  hoped  we  —  you  and  I,  you 
know  —  would  agree  to  be  —  to  be  good-natured  about  it 
and  —  and  friends  just  the  same.  I  —  I —  Well,  there! 
That's  all,  I  guess.  I  haven't  put  it  very  well,  I'm  afraid, 
but  —  but  what  do  you  think  about  it,  Grandfather?" 

And  now  Captain  Zelotes  did  look  up.  The  old  twinkle 
was  in  his  eye.  His  first  remark  was  a  question  and  that 
question  was  rather  surprising. 

"  Al,"  he  asked,  "  Al,  who's  been  talkin'  to  you?  " 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  grandson's  face.  "  Talking  to 
me  ?  "  he  stammered.  "  Why  —  why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  137 

"  I  mean  just  that.  You  didn't  think  out  this  scheme  ali 
by  yourself.  Somebody's  been  talkin'  to  you  and  puttin' 
you  up  to  it.  Haven't  they  ?  " 

"Why  — why,  Grandfather,  I—" 

•'  Haven't  they?" 

"  Why  —  Well,  yes,  someone  has  been  talking  to  me, 
but  the  whole  idea  isn't  theirs.  I  was  sorry  for  speaking 
to  you  as  I  did  and  sorry  to  think  of  leaving  you  and 
grandmother.  I  —  I  was  sitting  up  there  in  rny  room  and 
feeling  blue  and  mean  enough  and  —  and — " 

*'  And  then  Rachel  came  aboard  and  gave  you  your  sailin' 
orders ;  eh  ?  " 

Albert  gasped.  "  For  heaven's  sake  how  did  you  know 
that  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  She  —  Why,  she  must  have  told 
you,  after  all !  But  she  said  — " 

"  Hold  on,  boy,  hold  on !  "  Captain  Lote  chuckled  quietly. 
"  No,"  he  said,  4<  Rachel  didn't  tell  ire ;  I  guessed  she  was 
the  one.  And  it  didn't  take  a  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  to 
guess  it,  neither.  Labe  Keeler's  been  talkin'  to  me,  and 
when  you  come  down  here  and  began  proposin'  the  same 
scheme  that  I  was  just  about  headin'  up  to  your  room  with 
to  propose  to  you,  then  —  well,  then  the  average  whole- 
witted  person  wouldn't  need  more'n  one  guess.  It  couldn't 
be  Labe,  'cause  he'd  been  whisperin'  in  my  ear,  so  it  must 
have  been  the  other  partner  in  the  firm.  That's  all  the 
miracle  there  is  to  it." 

Albert's  brain  struggled  with  the  situation.  "  I  see,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment.  "  She  hinted  that  someone  had  been 
talking  to  you  along  the  same  line.  Yes,  and  she  was  so 
sure  you  would  agree.  I  might  have  known  it  was  Laban." 

u  Um-hm,  so  you  might.  .  .  .  Well,  there  have  been 
times  when  if  a  man  had  talked  to  me  as  Labe  did  to-night 
I'd  have  knocked  him  down,  or  told  him  to  go  to  —  um  — 
well,  the  tropics  —  told  him  to  mind  his  own  business,  at 
least.  But  Labe  is  Labe,  and  besides  my  conscience  was 
plaguin'  me  a  little  mite,  maybe  .  .  .  maybe." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  "  They  must  have  talked 
it  over,  those  two,  and  agreed  that  one  should  talk  to  you 


138  THE  PORTYGEE 

and  the  other  to  me.     By  George,  I  wonder  they  had  the 
nerve.     It  wasn't  their  business,  really/' 

"  Not  a  darn  bit." 

"  Yet  —  yet  I  —  I'm  awfully  glad  she  said  it  to  me.  I  — 
I  needed  it,  I  guess." 

"  Maybe  you  did,  son.  .  .  .  And  —  humph  —  well,  maybe 
I  needed  it,  too.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  know  that's  consider'ble  ror  me 
to  say,"  he  added  dryly. 

Albert  was  still  thinking  of  Laban  and  Rachel. 

"4  They're  queer  people,"  he  mu^ed.     "  When  I  first  met 
them  I  thought  they  were  about  the  funniest  pair  I  ever 
saw.     But  —  but  now  I  can't  help  liking  them  and  —  and  - 
Say,  Grandfather,  they  must  think  a  lot  of  your  —  of  our 
family." 

"  Cal'late  they  do,  son.  .  .  .  Well,  boy,  we've  had  our 
sermon,  you  and  me,  what  shall  we  do?  Willin'  to  sign 
for  the  five  years  tri:  \  cruise  if  I  will,  are  you  ?  " 

Albert  couldn't  help  smiling.  "  It  was  three  years  Rachel 
proposed,  not  five,"  he  said. 

'*  Was,  eh  ?  Suppose  we  split  the  difference  and  make 
it  four  ?  Willin'  to  try  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

'*  Agreement  bein'  that  you  shall  stick  close  to  Z.  Snow 
and  Co.  durin'  work  hours  and  write  as  much  poetry  as 
you  darned  please  other  times,  neither  side  to  interfeie  with 
those  arrangements  ?  That  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good !     Shall  we  shake  hands  on  it  ?  " 

They  shook,  solemnly.  Captain  Lote  was  the  first  to 
speak  after  ratification  of  the  contract. 

"  There,  now  I  cal-late  I'll  go  aloft  and  turn  in,"  he  ob 
served.  Then  he  added,  with  a  little  hesitation,  "  Say,  Al, 
maybe  we'd  better  not  trouble  your  grandma  about  all  this 
fool  business  —  the  row  this  afternoon  and  all.  'Twould 
only  worry  her  and — "  he  paused,  looked  embarrassed, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  said,  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm 
kind  of  ashamed  of  my  part  —  er  —  er  —  that  is,  some  of 


THE  PORTYGEE  139 

His  grandson  was  very  much  astonished.  It  was  not 
often  that  Captain  Zelotes  Snow  admitted  having  been  in 
the  wrong.  He  blurted  out  the  question  he  had  been  dying 
to  ask. 

**  Grandfather,"  he  queried,  **  had  you  —  did  you.  really 
mean  what  you  said  about  starting  to  come  to  my  room  and 
—  and  propose  this  scheme  of  ours  —  I  mean  of  Rachel's 
and  Labe's  —  to  me  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  .  .  .  Ye-es  —  yes.  I  was  on  my  way  up  there 
when  I  met  you  just  now." 

"  Well,  Grandfather,  I  —  I  — " 

"  That's  all  right,  boy,  that's  all  right.  Don't  let's  talk 
any  more  about  it." 

"We  won't.  And  —  and —  But,  Grandfather,  I  just 
want  you  to  know  that  I  guess  I  understand  things  a  little 
better  than  I  did,  and  — and  when  my  father — " 

The  captain's  heavy  hand  descended  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Heave  short,  Al!"  he  commanded  u  I've  been  doin' 
consider'ble  thinkin'  since  Labe  finished  his  —  er  —  discourse 
and  pronounced  the  benediction,  and  I've  come  to  a  pretty 
definite  conclusion  on  one  matter.  I've  concluded  that  you 
and  I  had  better  cut  out  all  the  bygones  from  this  new 
arrangement  of  ours.  We  won't  have  fathers  or  —  or  — 
elopements  —  or  past-and-done-with  disapp'intments  in  it. 
This  new  deal  —  this  four  year  trial  v'yage  of  ours  —  will 
be  just  for  Albert  Speranza  and  Zelotes  Snow,  and  no  others 
need  apply.  ...  Eh?  ...  Wei',  good  night,  Al." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SO  the  game  under  the  "  new  deal "  began.  At  first 
it  was  much  easier  than  the  old.  And,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  was  never  as  hard  as  before.  The  heart 
to  heart  talk  between  Captain  Zelotes  and  his  grandson 
had  given  each  a  glimpse  of  the  other's  inner  self,  a  look 
from  the  other's  point  of  view,  and  thereafter  it  was  easier 
to  make  allowances.  But  the  necessity  for  the  making  of 
those  allowances  was  still  there  and  would  continue  to 
be  there.  At  first  AJbert  made  almost  no  mistakes  in  his 
bookkeeping,  was  almost  painfully  careful.  Then  the  care 
fulness  relaxed,  as  it  was  bound  to  do,  and  some  mistakes 
occurred.  Captain  Lote  found  little  fault,  but  at  times  he 
could  not  help  showing  some  disappointment.  Then  his 
grandson  would  set  his  teeth  and  buckle  down  to  pains 
taking  effort  again.  He  was  resolved  to  live  up  to  the  very 
letter  of  the  agreement. 

In  his  spare  time  he  continued  to  write  and  occasionally 
he  sold  something.  Whenever  he  did  so  there  was  great 
rejoicing  among  the  feminine  members  of  the  Snow  house 
hold;  his  grandmother  ?nd  Rachel  Ellis  were  enraptured. 
It  was  amusing  to  see  Captain  Zelotes  attempt  to  join  the 
chorus.  He  evidently  felt  that  he  ought  to  praise,  or  at 
least  that  praise  was  expected  from  him,  but  it  was  also 
evident  that  he  did  not  approve  of  what  he  was  praising. 

"  Your  grandma  says  you  got  rid  of  another  one  of  your 
poetry  pieces,  Al,"  he  would  say.  "  Pay  you  for  it,  did 
they?" 

"•  Not  yet,  but  they  will,  I  suppose." 
"  I  see,  I  se?.     How  much,  think  likely  ?  " 
*'  Oh,  I  don't  know.     Ten  dollars,  perhaps/' 
"  Um-hm  ...  I  see.  .  .  .     Well,  that's  pretty  good,  con- 

140 


THE  PORTYGEE  141 

siderin',  I  suppose.  .  .  .  We  did  first-rate  on  that  Hyan- 
nis  school-house  contract,  didn't  we.  Nigh's  I  can  figger 
it  we  cleared  over  fourteen  hundred  and  eighty  dollars  on 
that." 

He  invariably  followed  any  reference  to  the  profit  from 
the  sale  of  verses  by  the  casual  mention  of  a  much  larger 
sum  derived  from  the  sale  of  lumber  or  hardware.  This 
was  so  noticeable  that  Laban  Keeler  was  impelled  to  speak 
of  it. 

"  The  old  man  don't  want  you  to  forget  that  you  can  get 
more  for  hard  pine  than  you  can  for  soft  sonnets,  sellin' 
'em  both  by  the  foot,"  observed  Labe,  peering  over  his  spec 
tacles.  *'  More  money  in  shingles  than  there  is  in  jingles, 
he  cal'lates.  .  .  .  Um.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes.  .  .  .  Consider'ble 
more,  consider'ble." 

Albert  smiled,  but  it  astonished  him  to  find  that  Mr.  Keeler 
knew  what  a  sonnet  was.  The  little  bookkeeper  occasionally 
surprised  him  by  breaking  out  unexpectedly  in  that  way. 

From  the  indiscriminate  praise  at  home,  or  the  reluctant 
praise  of  his  grandfather,  he  found  relief  when  he  discussed 
his  verses  with  Helen  Kendall.  Her  praise  was  not  indis 
criminate,  in  fact  sometimes  she  did  not  praise  at  all,  but 
expressed  disapproval.  They  had  some  disagreements, 
marked  disagreements,  but  it  did  not  affect  their  friendship. 
Albert  was  a  trifle  surprised  to  find  that  it  did  not. 

So  as  the  months  passed  he  ground  away  at  the  books 
of  Z.  Snow  and  Company  during  office  hours  and  at  the 
poetry  mill  between  times.  The  seeing  of  his  name  in  print 
was  no  longer  a  novelty  and  he  poetized  not  quite  as  steadily. 
Occasionally  he  attempted  prose,  but  the  two  or  three  short 
stories  of  his  composition  failed  to  sell.  Helen,  however, 
urged  him  to  try  again  and  keep  trying.  "  I  know  you  can 
write  a  good  story  and  some  day  you  are  going  to,"  she  said. 

His  first  real  literary  success,  that  which  temporarily 
lifted  him  into  the  outer  circle  of  the  limelight  of  fame, 
was  a  poem  written  the  day  following  that  upon  which 
came  the  news  of  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania.  Captain 
Zelotes  came  back  from  the  post-office  that  morning,  a 


142  THE  PORTYGEE 

crumpled  newspaper  in  his  hand,  and  upon  his  face  the 
look  which  mutinous  foremast  hands  had  seen  there  just 
before  the  mutiny  ended.  Laban  Keeler  was  the  first  to 
notice  the  look.  "  For  the  land  sakes,  Cap'n,  what's  gone 
wrong  ?"  he  asked.  The  captain  flung  the  paper  upon  the 
desk.  "  Read  that,"  he  grunted.  Labe  slowly  spread  open 
the  paper ;  the  big  black  headlines  shrieked  the  crime  aloud. 

"  Good  God  Almighty !  "  exclaimed  the  little  bookkeeper. 
Captain  Zelotes  snorted.  "  He  didn't  have  anything  to  do 
with  it,"  he  declared.  "  The  bunch  that  pulled  that  off  was 
handled  from  the  other  end  of  the  line.  And  I  wish  to 
thunder  I  was  young  enough  to  help  send  'em  back  there," 
he  added,  savagely. 

That  evening  Albert  wrote  his  poem.  The  next  day  he 
sent  it  to  a  Boston  paper.  It  was  published  the  following 
morning,  spread  across  two  columns  on  the  front  page,  and 
before  the  month  was  over  had  been  copied  widely  over 
the  country.  Within  the  fortnight  its  author  received  his 
first  request,  a  bona  fida  request  for  verse  from  a  magazine. 
Even  Captain  Lote's  praise  of  the  Lusitania  poem  was 
whole-hearted  and  ungrudging. 

That  summer  was  a  busy  one  in  South  Harniss.  There 
was  the  usual  amount  of  summer  gaiety,  but  in  addition 
there  were  the  gatherings  of  the  various  committees  for  war 
relief  work.  Helen  belonged  to  many  of  these  committees. 
There  were  dances  and  theatrical  performances  for  the  finan 
cial  benefit  of  the  various  causes  and  here  Albert  shone.  But 
he  did  not  shine  alone.  Helen  Kendall  was  very  popular 
at  the  social  gatherings,  popular  not  only  with  the  perma 
nent  residents  but  with  the  summer  youth  as  well.  Albert 
nc  Liced  this,  but  he  did  not  notice  it  so  particularly  until  Issy 
Price  called  his  attention  to  it. 

"  Say,  Al,"  observed  Issy,  one  afternoon  in  late  August  of 
that  year,  "  how  do  you  like  that  Raymond  young  feller  ?  " 

Albert  looked  up  aosently  from  the  page  of  the  daybook. 
*'Eh?  What?  he  asked. 

*'  I  say  how  do  you  like  that  Eddie  Raymond,  the  Down- 
at-the-Neck  one?" 


THE  PORTYGEE  143 

"  Down  at  the  neck  ?  There's  nothing  the  matter  with 
his  neck  that  I  know  cf." 

'*  Who  said  there  was  ?  He  lives  down  to  the  Neck,  don't 
he?  I  mean  that  young  Raymond,  son  of  the  New  York 
bank  man,  the  ones  that's  had  the  Cahoon  house  all  sum 
mer.  How  do  you  like  him  ?  " 

Albert's  attention  was  still  divided  between  the  day 
book  and  Mr.  Price.  "  Oh,  I  guess  he's  all  right,"  he  an 
swered,  carelessly.  "  I  don't  know  him  very  vvell.  Don't 
bother  me,  Issy,  I'm  busy." 

Issachar  chuckled.  "  He's  busy,  too,"  he  observed.  "  He, 
he,  he!  He's  busy  trottin'  after  Helen  Kendall.  Don't 
seem  to  have  time  for  much  else  these  days.  Noticed  that, 
ain't  you,  A)  ?  He,  he !  " 

Albert  had  not  noticed  it.  His  attention  left  the  day 
book  altogether.  Issacha-r  chuckled  again. 

"  Noticed  it,  ain't  you,  Al?  "  he  repeated.  "  If  you  ain't 
you're  the  only  one.  Everybody's  cal'latin'  you'll  be  cut  out 
if  you  ain't  careful.  Folks  used  to  figger  you  was  Helen's 
steady  comp'ny,  but  it  don't  look  as  much  so  as  it  did. 
He,  he!  That's  why  I  asked  you  how  you  liked  the  Ray 
mond  one.  Eh?  How  do  you,  Al?  Helen,  she  seems  to 
like  him  fust-rate.  He,  he,  he !  " 

Albert  was  conscious  of  a  peculiar  feeling,  partly  of  irri 
tation  at  Issachar,  partly  something  else.  Mr.  Price  crowed 
delightedly. 

"  Hi !  "  he  chortled.  "  Why,  Al,  your  face  is  gettin'  all 
redded  up.  Haw,  haw;  Blushin',  ain't  you,  Al?  Haw, 
haw,  haw  1  Blushin',  by  crimustee  !  " 

Albert  laid  down  his  pen.  He  had  learned  by  experience 
that,  in  Issy's  case,  the  maxim  of  the  best  defensive  being  a 
strong  offensive  was  absolutely  true.  He  looked  with  con 
cern  ?bout  the  office. 

"  There's  a  window  open  somewhere,  isn't  there,  Is  ?  " 
he  inquired.  "  There's  a  dreadful  draught  anyhow." 

"Eh?  Draught?  I  don't  feel  no  draught.  Course  the 
window's  open;  it's  generally  open  in  summer  time,  ain't 
it.  Haw,  haw  !  " 


- 144  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  There  it  is  again !  Where  —  Oh,  /  see !  It's  your 
mouth  that's  open,  Issy.  That  explains  the  draught,  of 
course.  Yes,  yes,  of  course." 

"  Eh  ?  My  mouth !  Never  you  mind  my  mouth.  What 
you've  got  to  think  about  is  that  Eddie  Raymond.  Yes 
sir-ee !  Haw,  haw !  " 

"  Issy,  what  makes  you  make  that  noise  ?  " 

"What  noise?" 

"  That  awful  cawing.  If  you're  trying  to  make  me  be 
lieve  you're  a  crow  you're  wasting  your  time." 

"  Say,  look  here,  Al  Speranzy,  be  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  No-o,  I'm  not.  But  in  your  case  —  well,  I'll  leave  it 
to  any  fair-minded  person — " 

And  so  on  until  Mr.  Price  stamped  disgustedly  out  of 
the  office.  It  was  easy  enough,  and  required  nothing  bril 
liant  in  the  way  of  strategy  or  repartee,  to  turn  Issachar's 
attack  into  retreat.  But  all  the  rest  of  that  afternoon  Albert 
was  conscious  of  that  peculiar  feeling  of  uneasiness.  After 
supper  that  night  he  did  not  go  down  town  at  once  but  sat 
in  his  room  thinking  deeply.  The  subjects  of  his  thoughts 
were  Edwin  Raymond,  the  young  chap  from  New  York, 
Yale,  and  "The  Neck"  — and  Helen  Kendall.  He  suc 
ceeded  only  in  thinking  himself  into  an  even  more  uneasy 
and  unpleasant  state  of  mind.  Then  he  walked  moodily 
down  to  the  post-office.  He  was  a  little  late  for  the  mail 
and  the  laughing  and  chatting  groups  were  already  coming 
back  after  its  distribution.  One  such  group  he  met  was 
made  up  of  half  a  dozen  young  people  on  their  way  to 
the  drug  store  for  ices  and  sodas.  Helen  was  among  them 
and  with  her  was  young  Raymond.  They  called  to  him  to 
join  them,  but  he  pretended  not  to  hear. 

Now,  in  all  the  years  of  their  acquaintance  it  had  not 
once  occurred  to  Albert  Speranza  that  his  interest  in  Helen 
Kendall  was  anything  more  than  that  of  a  friend  ana  com 
rade.  He  liked  her,  had  enjoyed  her  society  —  when  he 
happened  to  be  in  the  mood  to  wish  society  —  and  it  pleased 
him  to  feel  that  she  was  interested  in  his  literary  efforts 
and  his  career.  She  was  the  only  girl  in  South  Harniss 


THE  PORTYGEE  145 

who  would  have  **  talked  turkey  "  to  him  as  she  had  on  the 
day  of  their  adventure  at  High  Point  Light  and  he  rather 
admired  her  for  it.  But  in  all  his  dreams  of  romantic  at 
tachments  and  sentimental  adventure,  and  he  had  such 
dreams  of  course,  she  had  never  played  a  part.  The  hero 
ines  of  these  dreams  were  beautiful  and  mysterious 
strangers,  not  daughters  of  Cape  Cod  clergymen. 

But  now,  thanks  to  Issy's  mischievous  hints,  his  feelings 
were  in  a  puzzled  and  uncomfortable  state.  He  was  aston 
ished  to  find  that  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  Helen's  being 
particularly  interested  in  Ed  Raymond.  He,  himself,  had 
not  seen  her  as  frequently  of  late,  she  having  been  busy  with 
her  war  work  and  he  with  his  own  interests.  But  that, 
according  to  his  view,  was  no  reason  why  she  should  permit 
Raymond  to  become  friendly  to  the  point  of  causing  people 
to  talk.  He  was  not  rea.dy  to  admit  that  he  himself  cared, 
in  a  sentimental  way,  for  Helen,  but  he  resented  any  other 
fellow's  daring  to  do  so.  And  she  should  not  have  per 
mitted  it,  either.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Alberto  Miguel  Carlos 
Speranza,  hitherto  reigning  undisputed  king  of  hearts  in 
South  Harniss,  was  for  the  first  time  in  his  imperial  life 
feeling  the  pangs  of  jealousy. 

He  stalked  gloomily  on  to  the  post-office.  Gertie  Ken- 
drick,  on  the  arm  of  Sam  Thatcher,  passed  him  and  he  did 
not  even  notice  her.  Gertie  whispered  to  Sam  that  he, 
Albert,  was  a  big  stuck-up  nothing,  but  she  looked  back  over 
Sam's  shoulder,  nevertheless.  Albert  climbed  the  post-office 
steps  and  walked  over  to  the  rack  of  letter  boxes.  The 
Snow  box  contained  little  of  interest  to  him,  and  he  was 
turning  away  when  he  heard  his  name  spoken. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Speranza,"  said  a  feminine  voice. 

Albert  turned  again,  to  find  Jane  Kelsey  and  another 
young  lady,  a  stranger,  standing  beside  him.  Miss  Kelsey 
was  one  of  South  Harniss's  summer  residents.  The  Kelsey 
"  cottage,"  which  was  larger  by  considerable  than  the  Snow 
house,  was  situated  on  the  Bay  Road,  the  most  exclusive 
section  of  the  village.  Once,  and  not  so  many  years  be 
fore,  the  Bay  Road  was  contemptuously  referred  to  as 


146  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Poverty  Lane "  and  dwellers  along  its  winding,  weed- 
grown  track  vied  with  one  another  in  shiftless  shabbiness. 
But  now  all  shabbiness  had  disappeared  and  many-gabled 
"  cottages  "  proudly  stood  where  the  shanties  of  the  Poverty 
Laners  once  humbly  leaned. 

Albert  had  known  Jane  Kelsey  for  some  time.  They  had 
met  at  one  of  the  hotel  tea-dances  during  his  second  summer 
in  South  Harniss.  He  and  she  were  not  intimate  friends 
exactly,  her  mother  saw  to  that,  but  they  were  well  ac 
quainted.  She  was  short  and  piquant,  had  a  nose  which 
freckled  in  the  Cape  Cod  sunshine,  and  she  talked  and 
laughed  easily. 

*'  Good  evening,  Mr.  Speranza,"  she  said,  again.  "  You 
looked  so  very  forlorn  I  couldn't  resist  speaking.  Do  tell 
us  why  you  are  so  sad;  we're  dying  to  know." 

Albert,  taken  by  surprise,  stammered  that  he  didn't  know 
that  he  was  sad.  Miss  Kelsey  laughed  merrily  and  de 
clared  that  everyone  who  saw  him  knew  it  at  once.  "  Oh, 
excuse  me,  Madeline,"  she  added.  "  I  forgot  that  you  and 
Mr.  Speranza  had  not  met.  Of  course  as  you're  going  to 
live  in  South  Harniss  you  must  know  him  without  waiting 
another  minute.  Everybody  knows  everybody  down  here. 
He  is  Albert  Speranza  —  and  we  sometimes  call  him  Albert 
because  here  everybody  calls  everyone  else  by  their  first 
names.  There,  now  you  know  each  other  and  it's  all  very 
proper  and  formal. 

The  young  lady  who  was  her  companion  smiled.  The 
smile  was  distinctly  worth  looking  at,  as  was  the  young 
lady  herself,  for  that  matter. 

"I  doubt  if  Mr.  Speranza  knows  me  very  well,  Jane," 
she  observed. 

*'  Doesn't  know  you !  Why,  you  silly  thing,  haven't  I 
just  introduced  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  much  about  South  Harniss  intro 
ductions,  but  isn't  it  customary  to  mention  names?  You 
haven:t  told  him  mine.  ' 

Miss  Kelsey  laughed  in  high  delight.  "  Oil,  how  per 
fectly  ridiculous !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Albert  —  Mr.  Sper- 


THE  PORTYGEE  147 

anza,  I  mean  —  this  is  my  friend  Miss  Madeline  Fosdick. 
She  is  from  New  York  and  she  has  decided  to  spend  her 
summers  in  South  Harniss  —  which  /  consider  very  good 
judgment.  Her  father  is  going  to  build  a  cottage  for  her 
to  spend  them  in  down  on  the  Bay  Road  on  the  hill  at  the 
corner  above  the  Inlet.  But  of  course  you've  heard  of 
that!" 

Of  course  he  had.  The  purchase  of  the  Inlet  Hill  land 
by  Fletcher  Fosdick,  the  New  York  banker,  and  the  price 
paid  Solomon  Dadgett  for  that  land,  had  been  the  principal 
topics  of  conversation  around  South  Harniss  supper  tables 
for  the  past  ten  days.  Captain  Lote  Snow  had  summed  up 
local  opinion  of  the  transaction  when  he  said :  "  We-11,  Sol 
Dadgett's  been  talkin'  in  prayer-meetin'  ever  since  I  can  re 
member  about  tH  comin'  ot  Paradise  on  earth.  Judgin' 
by  the  price  he  got  for  the  Inlet  Hill  sand  heap  he  must 
have  cal'lated  Paradise  had  got  here  and  he  was  sellin'  the 
golden  streets  by  the  runnin'  foot."  Oh,  as  Laban  Keeler 
put  it :  "  They  say  King  Soloman  was  a  wise  man,  but  I 
guess  likely  'twas  a  good  thing  for  him  that  Sol  Dadgett 
wasn't  alive  in  his  time.  King  Sol  would  have  needed  all 
his  wisdom  to  keep  Dadgett  from  talkin'  him  into  buying 
the  Jerusalem  salt-ma'sh  to  build  the  temple  on.  ... 
Um.  .  .  .  Yes  —  yes  —  yes." 

So  Albert,  as  he  shock  hands  with  Miss  Fosdick,  regarded 
her  with  unusual  interest.  And,  judging  by  the  way  in 
which  she  looked  at  him,  she  too  was  interested.  After 
some  minutes  of  the  usual  conventional  summer-time  chat 
the  young  gentleman  suggesced  that  they  adjourn  to  the 
drug  store  for  refreshments.  The  invitation  was  accepted, 
the  vivacious  Miss  Kelsey  acting  as  spokesman  —  or  spokes 
woman  —  in  the  matter. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  a  mind-reader,  Mr.  Speranza,"  she 
declared.  **  I  am  dying  for  a  sundae  and  I  have  just  dis 
covered  that  I  haven't  my  purse  or  a  penny  with  me.  I 
should  have  been  reduced  to  the  humiliation  if  borrowing 
from  Madeline  here,  or  asking  that  deaf  old  Burgess  man 
to  trust  me  until  to-morrow.  And  he  is  so  frightfully  deaf," 


i48  THE  PORTYGEE 

she  added  in  explanation,  "  that  when  I  asked  him  the  last 
time  he  made  me  repeat  it  until  I  thought  I  should  die  of 
shame,  or  exhaustion,  one  or  the  other.  Every  time  I 
shouted  he  would  say  'Hey?'  and  I  was  obliged  to  shout 
again.  Of  course,  the  place  was  crowded,  and —  Oh, 
well,  I  don't  like  to  even  think  about  it.  Bless  you,  bless 
you,  Albert  Speranza  !  And  do  please  let's  hurry !  " 

When  they  entered  the  drug  store  —  it  also  sold,  accord 
ing  to  its  sign,  '*  Cigars,  soda,  ice-cream,  patent  medicines, 
candy,  knick-knacks,  chewing  gum,  souvenirs  and  notions  " 
—  the  sextette  of  which  Helen  Kendall  made  one  was  just 
leaving.  She  nodded  pleasantly  to  Albert  and  he  nodded  in 
return,  but  Ed  Raymond's  careless  bow  he  did  not  choose  to 
see.  He  had  hitherto  rather  liked  that  young  gentleman; 
now  he  felt  a  sudden  but  violent  detestation  for  him. 

Sundaes  pleasant  to  the  palate  and  disastrous  to  all  but 
youthful  digestions  were  ordered.  Albert's  had  a  slight 
flavor  of  gall  and  wormwood,  but  he  endeavored  to  coun 
terbalance  this  by  the  sweetness  derived  from  the  society 
of  Jane  Kelsey  and  her  friend.  His  conversation  was  par 
ticularly  brilliant  and  sparkling  that  evening.  Jane  laughed 
much  and  chatted  more.  Miss  Fosdick  was  quieter,  but  she, 
too,  appeared  to  be  enjoying  herself.  Jane  demanded  to 
know  how  the  poems  were  developing.  She  begged  him  to 
have  an  inspiration  now  —  "  Do,  please,  so  that  Madeline 
and  I  can  see  you."  It  seemed  to  be  her  idea  that  having 
an  inspiration  was  similar  to  having  a  fit.  Miss  Fosdick 
laughed  at  this,  but  she  declared  that  she  adored  poetry  and 
specified  certain  poems  which  were  objects  of  her  especial 
adoration.  The  conversation  thereafter  became  what  Miss 
Kelsey  described  as  "  high  brow,"  and  took  the  form  of 
a  dialogue  between  Miss  Fosdick  and  Albert.  It  was  in 
terrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the  Kelsey  limousine,  which 
rolled  majestically  up  to  the  drug  store  steps.  Jane  spied  it 
first. 

"  Oh,  meny  me,  here's  mother!  "  she  exclaimed.  "And 
your  mother,  too,  Madeline.  We  are  tracked  to  our 
lair.  .  .  .  No,  no,  Mr.  Speranza,  you  mustn't  go  out.  No, 


THE  PORTYGEE  149 

really,  we  had  rather  you  wouldn't.  Thanks,  ever  so  much, 
for  the  sundaes.  Come,  Madeline." 

Miss  Fosdick  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Speranza,"  she  said.  4S I  have  enjoyed 
our  poetry  talk  so  much.  It  must  be  wonderful  to  write 
as  you  do.  Good  night." 

She  looked  admiringly  into  his  eyes  as  she  said  it.  In 
spite  of  the  gall  and  wormwood  Albert  found  it  not  at  all 
unpleasant  to  be  looked  at  in  that  way  by  a  girl  like  Made 
line  Fosdick.  His  reflections  on  that  point  were  inter 
rupted  by  a  voice  from  the  car. 

"  Come,  Madeline,  come,"  it  said,  fussily.  "  What  are 
you  waiting  for  ?  " 

Albert  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  majestic  figure  which,  seated 
beside  Mrs.  Kelsey  on  the  rear  seat  of  the  limousine,  towered 
above  that  short,  plump  lady  as  a  dreadnaught  towers  above 
a  coal  barge.  He  surmised  this  figure  to  be  that  of  the 
maternal  Fosdick.  Madeline  climbed  in  beside  her  parent 
and  the  limousine  rolled  away. 

Albert's  going-to-bed  reflections  that  evening  were  divided 
in  flavor,  like  a  fruit  sundae,  a  combination  of  sweet  and 
sour.  The  sour  was  furnished  by  thoughts  of  Edwin  Ray 
mond  and  Helen  Kendall,  the  former's  presumption  in  dar 
ing  to  seek  her  society  as  he  did,  and  Helen's  amazing  silli 
ness  in  permitting  such  a  thing.  The  sweet,  of  course, 
was  furnished  by  a  voice  which  repeated  to  his  memory 
the  words,  "  It  must  be  wonderful  to  write  as  you  do." 
Also  the  tone  of  that  voice  and  the  look  in  the  eyes. 

Could  he  have  been  privileged  to  hear  the  closing  bits  of 
a  conversation  which  was  taking  place  at  that  moment  his 
reflections  might  have  been  still  further  saccharined.  Miss 
Jane  Kelsey  was  saying :  *'  And  now  what  do  you  think  of 
our  Cape  Cod  poet?  Didn't  I  promise  you  to  show  you 
something  you  couldn't  find  on  Fifth  Avenue?"  And  to 
this  Miss  Madeline  Fosdick  made  reply :  "  I  thini,  he  is 
the  handsomest  creature  I  ever  saw.  And  so  clever !  Why, 
he  is  wonderful,  Jane!  How  in  the  world  does  he  happen 
to  be  living  here  —  all  the  time  ?  " 


150  THE  PORTYGEE 

It  is  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  a  good  thing  that  Albert 
Speranza  could  not  hear  this.  It  is  certainly  a  good  thing 
that  Captain  Zelotes  Snow  did  not  hear  it. 

And  although  the  balance  of  sweet  and  sour  in  Albert's 
mind  that  night  was  almost  even,  the  sour  predominated 
nexi  day  and  continued  to  predominate.  Issachar  Price 
had  sowed  the  seed  of  jealousy  in  the  mind  of  the  assistant 
bookkeeper  of  Z.  Snow  and  Company,  and  that  seed  took 
root  and  grew  as  it  is  only  too  likely  to  do  under  such  cir 
cumstances.  That  evening  Albert  walked  again  to  the  post- 
office.  Helen  was  not  there,  neither  was  Miss  Kelsey  or 
Miss  Fosdick.  He  waited  for  a  time  and  then  determined 
to  call  at  the  Kendall  home,  something  he  had  not  done 
for  some  time.  As  he  came  up  to  the  front  "ralk,  oetween 
the  arbor-vitse  hedges,  he  saw  that  the  parlor  windows 
were  alight.  The  window  shade  was  but  partially  drawn 
and  beneath  it  he  could  see  into  the  room.  Helen  was 
seated  at  the  piano  and  Edwin  Raymond  was  standing  be 
side  her,  ready  to  turn  tne  page  of  her  music. 

Albert  whirled  on  his  heel  and  walked  out  of  the  yard 
and  down  the  street  toward  his  own  home.  His  attitude  of 
mind  was  a  curious  one.  He  had  a  mind  to  wait  until 
Raymond  left  and  then  go  into  the  Kendall  parlor  and 
demand  of  Helen  to  know  what  she  meant  by  letting 
that  fellow  make  such  a  fool  of  himself.  What  right 
had  he  —  Raymond  —  to  call  upon  her,  and  turn  her  music 
and  —  and  set  the  whole  town  talking?  Why —  Oh,  he 
could  think  of  many  things  to  ask  and  say.  The  trouble  was 
that  the  saying  of  them  would,  he  felt  sure,  be  distinctly 
bad  diplomacy  on  his  part.  No  one  —  not  even  he  —  could 
talk  to  Helen  Kendall  in  that  fashion ;  not  unless  he  wished 
it  to  be  their  final  conversation. 

So  he  went  home,  to  fret  and  toss  angrily  and  miserably 
half  the  night.  He  had  never  before  considered  himself  in 
the  slimiest  degree  in  love  with  Helen,  but  he  had  taken 
for  granted  the  thought  that  she  liked  him  better  than 
anyone  else.  Now  he  was  beginning  to  fear  that  per 
haps  she  did  not,  and,  with  his  temperament,  wounded 


THE  PORTYGEE  151 

vanity  and  poetic  imagination  supplied  the  rest.  Within  a 
fortnight  he  considered  himself  desperately  in  love  with  her. 

During  this  fortnight  he  called  at  the  parsonage,  the  Ken 
dall  home,  several  times.  On  the  first  of  these  occasions 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Kendall,  having  just  completed  a  ser 
mon  dealing  with  the  war  and,  being  full  of  his  subject, 
read  the  said  sermon  to  his  daughter  and  to  Albert.  The 
reading  itself  lasted  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  and 
Mr.  Kendall's  post-argument  and  general  dissertation  on 
German  perfidy  another  hour  after  that.  By  that  time  it 
was  late  and  Albert  went  home.  The  second  call  was  even 
worse,  for  Ed  Raymond  called  also  and  the  two  young 
men  glovvered  at  each  other  until  fen  o'clock.  They  might 
have  continued  to  glower  indefinitely,  for  neither  meant  to 
leave  before  the  other,  but  Helen  announced  that  she  had 
some  home-study  papers  to  look  over  and  she  knew  they 
would  excuse  her  under  the  circumstances.  On  that  hint 
they  departed  simultaneously,  separating  at  the  gate  and 
walking  with  deliberate  dignity  in  opposite  directions. 

At  his  third  attempt,  however,  Albert  was  successful  to  the 
extent  that  Helen  was  alone  when  he  called  and  there  was 
no  school  work  to  interrupt.  But  in  no  other  respect  was 
the  interview  satisfactory.  All  that  week  he  had  been  boiling 
with  the  indignation  of  the  landed  proprietor  who  discovers 
a  trespasser  on  his  estate,  and  before  this  call  was  fifteen 
minutes  old  his  feelings  had  boiled  over. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Al?  "  asked  Helen.  "  Do 
tell  me  and  let's  see  if  I  can't  help  you  out  of  your  trouble." 

Her  visitor  flushed.  '*  Trouble  ? "  he  repeated,  stLTly. 
"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"Oh  yes,  do.     You  must.     What  is  the  matter?" 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me." 

'*  Nonsense !  Of  course  there  is.  You  have  scarcely 
spoken  a  word  of  your  own  accord  since  you  came,  and 
you  have  been  scowling  like  a  thundercloud  all  the  time. 
Now  what  is  it  ?  Have  I  done  something  you  don't  like  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  I  tell  you." 

"  Please  don't  be  so  silly.     Of  course  there  is.     I  thought 


152  THE  PORTYGEE 

there  must  be  something  wrong  the  last  time  you  were  here, 
that  evening,  when  Ed  called,  too.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
you  were  rather  queer  then.  Now  you  are  queerer  still. 
What  is  it?" 

This  straightforward  attack,  although  absolutely  charac 
teristic  of  Helen,  was  disconcerting.  Albert  met  it  by  an 
attack  of  his  own. 

"  Helen,"  he  demanded,  "  what  does  that  Raymond  fellow 
mean,  by  coming  to  see  you  as  he  does?" 

Now  whether  or  not  Helen  was  entirely  in  the  dark  as  to 
the  cause  of  her  visitor's  "  queerness  "  is  a  question  not  to 
be  answered  here.  She  was  far  from  being  a  stupid  young 
person  and  it  is  at  least  probable  that  she  may  have  guessed 
a  little  of  the  truth.  But,  being  feminine,  she  did  not  permit 
Albert  to  guess  that  she  had  guessed.  If  her  astonishment 
at  the  question  was  not  entirely  sincere,  it  certainly  ap 
peared  to  be  so. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  What  does  he 
mean  by  coming  to  see  me?  Why,  what  do  you  mean?  I 
should  think  that  was  the  question.  Why  shouldn't  he 
come  to  see  me,  pray  ?  " 

Now  Albert  has  a  dozen  reasons  in  his  mind,  each  of 
which  was  to  him  sufficiently  convincing.  But  expressing 
those  reasons  to  Helen  Kendall  he  found  singularly  diffi 
cult.  He  grew  confused  and  stammered. 

"  Well  —  well,  because  he  has  no  business  to  come  here 
so  much,"  was  the  best  he  could  do.  Helen,  strange  to 
say,  was  not  satisfied. 

"  Has  no  business  to  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Why,  of  course 
he  has.  I  asked  him  to  come." 

"  You  did?     Good  heavens,  you  don't  like  him,  do  you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  like  him.  I  think  he  is  a  very  nice  fellow. 
Don't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well  —  well,  because  I  don't,  that's  all.  He  has  no  busi 
ness  to  monopolize  you  all  the  time.  Why,  he  is  here  about 
every  night  in  the  week,  or  you're  out  with  him,  down  town, 


THE  PORTYGEE  153 

or  —  or  somewhere.     Everybody  is  talking  about  it  and  — " 

*'  Wait  a  minute,  please.  You  say  everybody  is  talking 
about  Ed  Raymond  and  me.  What  do  you  mean  by  that? 
What  are  they  saying  ?  " 

"  They're  saying.  .  .  .  Oh,  they're  saying  you  and  he  are 
—  are—" 

44  Are  what?" 

"  Are  —  are  —  Oh,  they're  saying  all  sorts  of  things. 
Look  here,  Helen,  I — " 

*'  Wait !  I  want  to  know  more  about  this.  What  have 
you  heard  said  about  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  lot  of  things.  .  .  .  That  is  —  er  —  well,  nothing 
in  particular,  perhaps,  but — " 

"  Wait !     Who  have  you  heard  saying  it  ?  " 

<4  Oh,  never  mind !     Helen  — " 

"  But  I  do  mind.  Who  have  you  heard  saying  this  '  lot 
of  things  '  about  me  ?  " 

"  Nobody,  I  tell  you.  .  .  .  Oh,  well,  if  you  must  know, 
Issy  Price  said  —  well,  he  said  you  and  this  Raymond  fal 
low  were  what  he  called  '  keeping  company  '  and  —  and  that 
the  whole  town  was  talking  about  it." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"  Issy  Price !  "  she  repeated.  4<  And  you  listened  to  what 
Issy  Price  said.  Issy  Price,  of  all  people ! " 

"  Well  —  well,  he  said  everyone  else  said  the  same  thing." 

"  Did  he  say  more  than  that  ?  " 

"  No,  but  that  was  enough,  wasn't  it.  Besides,  the  rest 
was  plain.  I  could  see  it  myself.  He  is  calling  here  about 
every  night  in  the  week,  and  —  and  being  around  everywhere 
with  you  and  —  and  —  Oh,  anyone  can  see !  " 

Helen's  usually  placid  temper  was  beginning  to  ruffle. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  then  they  may  see.  Why 
shouldn't  he  call  here  if  he  wishes  —  and  I  wish  ?  Why 
shouldn't  I  be  '  around  with  him/  as  you  say  ?  Why  not  ?  " 

44  Well,  because  I  don't  like  it.  It  isn't  the  right  thing 
for  you  to  do.  You  ought  to  be  more  careful  of  —  of 
what  people  say." 

He  realized,  almost  as  soon  as  this  last  sentence  was 


154  THE  PORTYGEE 

blurted  out,  the  absolute  tactlessness  of  it.  The  quiet  gleam 
of  humor  he  had  so  often  noticed  in  Helen's  eyes  was  suc 
ceeded  now  by  a  look  he  had  never  before  seen  there. 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  he  added,  hastily.  "  I  beg  your  par 
don,  Helen.  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  Forgive  me,  will 
you?" 

She  did  not  answer  immediately.  Then  she  said,  "  I  don't 
know  whether  I  shall  or  not.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  think 
it  over.  And  perhaps  you  had  better  go  now." 

"  But  I'm  sorry,  Helen.  It  was  a  fool  thing  to  say.  I 
don't  know  why  I  was  such  an  idiot.  Do  forgive  me ;  come !  " 

She  slowly  shook  her  head.  *'  I  can't  —  yet,"  she  said. 
"  And  this  you  must  understand:  If  Ed  Raymond,  or  any 
one  else,  calls  on  me  and  I  choose  to  permit  it,  or  if  I 
choose  to  go  out  with  him  anywhere  at  any  time,  that  is 
my  affair  and  not  *  everyone  else's  ' —  which  includes  Is- 
sachar  Price.  And  ttiy  "friends  —  my  real  friends  —  will 
not  listen  to  mean,  ridiculous  gossip.  Good  night." 

So  that  was  the  end  of  that  attempt  at  asserting  the  Divine 
Right  by  the  South  Harniss  king  of  hearts.  Albert  was 
more  miserable  than  ever,  angrier  than  ever  —  not  only  at 
Raymond  and  Helen,  but  at  himself  —  and  his  newly-dis 
covered  jealousy  burned  with  a  brighter  and  greener  flame. 
The  idea  of  throwing  everything  overboard,  going  to  Can 
ada  and  enlisting  in  the  Canadian  Army  —  an  idea  which 
had  had  a  strong  and  alluring  appeal  ever  since  the  war 
broke  out  —  came  back  with  redoubled  force.  But  there 
was  the  agreement  with  his  grandfather.  He  had  given  his 
word;  how  could  he  break  it?  Besides,  to  go  away  and 
leave  his  rival  with  a  clear  field  did  not  appeal  to  him,  either. 

On  a  Wednesday  evening  in  the  middle  of  September 
the  final  social  event  of  the  South  Harniss  summer  season 
was  to  take  place.  The  Society  for  the  Relief  of  the  French 
Wounded  was  to  give  a  dance  in  the  ballroom  of  the  hotel, 
the  proceeds  from  the  sale  of  tickets  to  be  devoted  to  the 
purpose  defined  by  the  name  of  this  organization.  Every 
last  member  of  the  summer  colony  was  to  attend,  of  course, 
and  all  those  of  the  permanent  residents  who  aspired  to 


THE  PORTYGEE  155 

social  distinction  and  cared  to  pay  the  high  price  of  ad 
mission. 

Albert  was  going,  naturally.  That  is,  he  had  at  first 
planned  to  go,  then  —  after  the  disastrous  call  at  the  par 
sonage  —  decided  that  he  would  go  under  no  circumstances, 
and  at  the  last  changed  his  mind  once  more  to  the  af 
firmative.  Miss  Madeline  Fosdick,  Jane  Kelsey's  friend, 
was  responsible  for  the  final  change.  She  it  was  who  had 
sold  him  his  ticket  and  urged  him  to  be  present.  He  and 
she  had  met  several  times  since  the  first  meeting  at  the  post- 
office.  Usually  when  they  met  they  talked  concerning  poetry 
and  kindred  lofty  topics.  Albert  liked  Miss  Fosdick.  It 
is  hard  not  to  like  a  pretty,  attractive  young  lady  who  takes 
such  a  flattering  interest  in  one's  aspirations  and  literary 
efforts.  The  "  high  brow  chit-chats  " —  quoting  Miss  Kel- 
sey  again  —  were  pleasant  in  many  ways ;  for  instance,  they 
were  in  the  nature  of  a  tonic  for  weakened  self-esteem,  and 
the  Speranza  self-esteem  was  suffering  just  at  this  time, 
from  shock. 

Albert  had,  when  he  first  heard  that  the  dance  was  to  take 
place,  intended  inviting  'Helen  to  accompany  him.  He  had 
taken  her  acceptance  for  granted,  he  having  acted  as  her 
escort  to  so  many  dances  and  social  affairs.  So  he  neglected 
inviting  her  and  then  came  Issy's  mischief-making  remarks 
and  the  trouble  which  followed.  So,  as  inviting  her  was 
out  of  the  question,  he  resolved  not  to  attend,  himself. 
But  Miss  Fosdick  urged  so  prettily  that  he  bought  his  ticket 
and  promised  to  be  among  those  present. 

"  Provided,  of  course,"  he  ventured,  being  in  a  reckless 
mood,  '*  that  you  save  me  at  least  four  dances." 

She  raised  her  brows  in  mock  dismay. 

"  Oh,  my  goodness !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I'm  afraid  I 
couldn't  do  that.  Four  is  much  too  many.  One  I  will 
promise,  but  no  more." 

However,  as  he  persisted,  she  yielded  another.  He  was 
to  have  two  dances  and,  possibly  an  "  extra." 

*'  And  you  are  a  lucky  young  man,"  declared  Jane  Kel- 
sey,  who  had  also  promised  two.  "If  you  knew  how  many 


156  THE  PORTYGEE 

fellows  have  begged  for  just  one.  But,  of  course,"  she 
added,  "  they  were  not  poets,  second  editions  of  Tenny 
son  and  Keats  and  all  that.  It  is  Keats  who  was  the  poet, 
isn't  it,  Madeline  ?  "  she  added,  turning  to  her  friend.  <§  Oh, 
I'm  so  glad  I  got  it  right  the  first  time.  I'm  always  mixing 
him  up  with  Watts,  the  man  who  invented  the  hymns  and 
wrote  the  steam-engine  —  or  something." 

The  Wednesday  evening  in  the  middle  of  September  was 
a  beautiful  one  and  the  hotel  was  crowded.  The  Item,  in  its 
account  the  following  week,  enumerating  those  present, 
spoke  of  "  Our  new  residents,  Mrs.  Fletcher  Story  Fos- 
dick  and  Miss  Madeline  Fosdick,  who  are  to  occupy  the 
magnificent  residence  now  about  being  built  on  the  Inlet 
Hill  by  their  husband  and  father,  respectively,  Fletcher 
Story  Fosdick,  Esquire,  the  well-known  New  York  banker." 
The  phrasing  of  this  news  note  caused  much  joy  in  South 
Harniss,  and  the  Item  gained  $£  rsral  new  and  hopeful  sub 
scribers. 

But  when  the  gushing  reporter  responsible  for  this  added 
that  **  Miss  Fosdick  was  a  dream  of  loveliness  on  this 
occasion "  he  was  stating  only  the  truth.  She  was  very 
beautiful  indeed  and  a  certain  young  man  who  stepped  up  to 
claim  his  first  dance  realized  the  fact.  The  said  young 
man  was  outwardly  cool,  but  red-hot  within,  the  internal 
rise  in  temperature  being  caused  by  the  sight  of  Helen  Ken 
dall  crossing  the  floor  arm  in  arm  with  Edwin  Raymond. 
Albert's  face  was  white  with  anger,  except  for  two  red 
spots  on  his  cheeks,  and  his  black  eyes  flashed.  Conse 
quently  he,  too,  was  considered  quite  worth  the  looking  at 
and  feminine  glances  followed  him. 

"  Who  is  that  handsome,  foreign-looking  fellow  your 
friend  is  dancing  with  ?  "  whispered  one  young  lady,  a  guest 
at  the  hotel,  to  Miss  Kelsey.  Jane  told  her. 

*'  But  he  isn't  a  foreigner,"  she  added.  "  He  lives  here 
in  South  Harniss  all  the  year.  He  is  a  poet,  I  believe,  and 
Madeline,  who  knows  about  such  things  —  inherits  it  from 
her  mother,  I  suppose  —  says  his  poetry  is  beautiful." 

Her  companion  watched  the  subject  of  their  conversation 


THE  PORTYGEE  157 

as,  with  Miss  Fosdick,  he  moved  lightly  and  surely  through 
the  crowd  on  the  floor. 

"  He  looks  like  a  poet,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  He  is  won 
derfully  handsome,  so  distinguished,  and  such  a  dancer! 
But  why  should  a  poet  live  here  —  all  the  year?  Is  that 
all  he  does  for  a  living  —  write  poetry  ?  " 

Jane  pretended  not  to  hear  her  and,  a  masculine  friend 
coming  to  claim  his  dance,  seized  the  opportunity  to  escape. 
However,  another  "  sitter  out "  supplied  the  information. 

"  He  is  a  sort  of  assistant  bookkeeper  at  the  lumber  yard 
by  the  railroad  station,"  said  this  person.  "  His  grand 
father  owns  the  place,  I  believe.  One  would  never  guess  it 
to  look  at  him  now.  .  .  .  Humph !  I  wonder  if  Mrs.  Fos 
dick  knows.  They  say  she  is  —  well,  not  democratically 
inclined,  to  say  the  least." 

Albert  had  his  two  promised  dances  with  Madeline  Fos 
dick,  but  the  "  extra "  he  aid  not  obtain.  Mrs.  Fosdick, 
the  ever  watchful,  had  seen  and  made  inquiries.  Then  she 
called  her  daughter  to  her  and  issued  an  ultimatum. 

*'  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  the  young  lady,  in  refusing  the 
plea  for  the  "  extra."  **  I  should  like  to,  but  I  —  but  Mother 
has  asked  me  to  dance  with  a  friend  of  ours  from  home. 
I  —  I  am  sorry,  really." 

She  looked  as  if  she  meant  it.  Albert  was  sorry,  too. 
This  had  been  a  strange  evening,  another  combination  of 
sweet  and  sour.  He  glanced  across  the  floor  and  saw  Helen 
and  the  inevitable  Raymond  emerge  together  from  the  room 
where  the  refreshments  were  served.  Raging  jealousy 
seized  him  at  the  sight.  Helen  had  not  been  near  him,  had 
scarcely  spoken  to  him  since  his  arrival.  He  forgot  that 
he  had  not  been  near  nor  spoken  to  her. 

He  danced  twice  or  thrice  more  with  acquaintances, 
"  summer "  or  permanent,  and  then  decided  to  go  home. 
Madeline  Fosdick  he  saw  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  sur 
rounded  by  a  group  of  young  masculinity.  Helen  he  could 
not  see  at  the  moment.  He  moved  in  the  direction  of  the 
coatroom.  Just  as  he  reached  the  door  he  was  surprised 
to  see  Ed  Raymond  stride  by  him,  head  down  and  looking 


158  THE  PORTYGEE 

anything  but  joyful.  He  watched  and  was  still  more  aston 
ished  to  see  the  young  man  get  his  coat  and  hat  from  the 
attendant  and  walk  out  of  the  hotel.  He  saw  him  stride 
away  along  the  drive  and  down  the  moonlit  road.  He  was, 
apparently,  going  home  —  going  home  alone. 

He  got  his  own  coat  and  hat  and,  before  putting  them  on, 
stepped  back  for  a  final  look  at  the  ballroom.  As  he  stood 
by  the  cloakroom  door  someone  touched  his  arm.  Turning 
he  saw  Helen. 

"  Why  —  why,  Helen  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise. 

*'  Are  you  going  home  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Yes,  I—" 

*'  And  you  are  going  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Would  you  mind  —  would  it  trouble  you  too  much  to 
walk  with  me  as  far  as  our  house  ?  " 

"  Why  —  why  of  course  not.  I  shall  be  delighted.  But 
I  thought  you  —  I  thought  Ed  Raymond  — " 

"No,  I'm  alone.  Wait  here;  I  will  be  ready  in  just 
a  minute." 

She  hurried  away.  He  gazed  after  her  in  bewilderment. 
She  and  he  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  word  during  the  even 
ing,  and  now,  when  the  evening  was  almost  over,  she  came 
and  asked  him  to  be  her  escort.  What  in  the  wide  world  — ? 

The  minute  she  had  specified  had  hardly  elapsed  when 
she  reappeared,  ready  for  out  of  doors.  She  took  his  arm 
and  they  walked  down  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  past  the 
group  of  lights  at  the  head  of  the  drive  and  along  the  road, 
with  the  moon  shining  down  upon  it  and  the  damp,  salt 
breeze  from  the  ocean  blowing  across  it.  They  walked 
for  the  first  few  minutes  in  silence.  There  were  a  dozen 
questions  he  would  have  liked  to  ask,  but  his  jealous  re 
sentment  had  not  entirely  vanished  and  his  pride  forbade. 
It  was  she  who  spoke  first. 

"  Albert,"  she  said,  "  you  must  think  this  very  odd." 

He  knew  what  she  meant,  but  he  did  not  choose  to  admit 
it. 

"What?"  he  asked. 


THE  PORTYGEE  159 

44  Why,  my  asking  you  to  walk  home  with  me,  after  — 
after  our  trouble.  It  is  strange,  I  suppose,  particularly  as 
you  had  not  spoken  before  this  whole  evening." 

"I  —  spoken  to  you?  Why,  you  bowed  to  me  when  I 
came  into  the  room  and  that  was  the  only  sign  of  recogni 
tion  you  gave  me  until  just  now.  Not  a  dance  —  not  one." 

"  Did  you  expect  me  to  look  you  up  and  beg  you  to  dance 
with  me  ?  " 

"  Did  you  expect  me  to  trot  at  that  fellow's  heels  and 
wait  my  chance  to  get  a  word  with  you,  to  take  what  he 
left  ?  I  should  say  not !  By  George,  Helen,  I  — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Hush,  hush ! "  she  pleaded. 
""  This  is  all  so  silly,  so  childish.  And  we  mustn't  quarrel 
any  more.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  that.  We  mustn't." 

"  Humph !  All  right,  /  had  no  thought  of  quarreling  in 
the  beginning.  But  there  are  some  things  a  self-respecting 
chap  can't  stand.  I  have  some  pride,  I  hope." 

She  caught  her  breath  quickly.  "Do  you  think,"  she 
asked,  "  that  it  was  no  sacrifice  to  my  pride  to  beg  you  to 
walk  home  with  me?  After  —  after  the  things  you  said 
the  other  evening  ?  Oh,  Albert,  how  could  you  say  them !  " 

«  Well  — "  he  hesitated,  and  then  added,  4t  I  told  you  I 
was  sorry." 

"  Yes,  but  you  weren't  really  sorry.  You  must  have  be 
lieved  the  things  that  hateful  Issachar  Price  said  or  you 
wouldn't  have  repeated  them.  .  .  .  Oh,  but  never  mind  that 
now,  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  of  it  at  all.  I  asked  you  to 
walk  home  with  me  because  I  wanted  to  make  up  our  quar 
rel.  Yes,  that  was  it.  I  didn't  want  to  go  away  and  feel 
that  you  and  I  were  not  as  good  friends  as  ever.  So,  you 
see,  I  put  all  my  pride  to  one  side  —  and  asked." 

One  phrase  in  one  sentence  of  this  speech  caught  and 
held  the  young  man's  attention.  He  forgot  the  others. 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  Cambridge  to  study.  I  am  going  to  take 
some  courses  at  Radcliffe.  You  know  I  told  you  I  hoped 
to  some  day.  Well,  it  has  been  arranged.  I  am  to  live 


160  THE  PORTYGEE 

with  my  cousin,  father's  half  sister  in  Somerville.  Father 
is  well  enough  to  leave  now  and  I  have  engaged  a  capable 
woman,  Mrs.  Peters,  to  help  Maria  with  the  housework. 
I  am  going  Friday  morning,  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

He  stopped  short  to  stare  at  her. 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  "  he  asked,  again.  "  You  are  go 
ing  to  do  that  and  —  and —  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  be 
fore?" 

It  was  a  characteristic  return  to  his  attitude  of  outraged 
royalty.  She  had  made  all  these  plans,  had  arranged  to 
do  this  thing,  and  he  had  not  been  informed.  At  another 
time  Helen  might  have  laughed  at  him;  she  generally  did 
when  he  became  what  she  called  the  "  Grand  Bashaw." 
She  did  not  laugh  now,  however,  but  answered  quietly. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  do  it  until  a  little  more 
than  a  week  ago,"  she  said.  "  And  I  have  not  seen  you 
since  then." 

"  No,  you've  been  too  busy  seeing  someone  else." 

She  lost  patience  for  the  instant.  '*  Oh,  don't,  don't, 
don't ! "  she  cried.  **  I  know  who  you  mean,  of  course. 
You  mean  Ed  Raymond.  Don't  you  know  why  he  has  been 
at  the  house  so  much  of  late?  Why  he  and  I  have  been  so 
much  together  ?  Don't  you  really  know  ?  " 

"What?  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  —  except  that  you  and  he 
wanted  to  be  together." 

"  And  it  didn't  occur  to  you  that  there  might  be  some 
other  reason?  You  forgot,  I  suppose,  that  he  and  I 
were  appointed  on  the  Ticket  Committee  for  this  very 
dance?" 

He  had  forgotten  it  entirely.  Now  he  remembered  per 
fectly  the  meeting  of  the  French  Relief  Society  at  which 
the  appointment  had  been  made.  In  fact  Helen  herself 
had  told  him  of  it  at  the  time.  For  the  moment  he  was 
staggered,  but  he  rallied  promptly. 

"  Committee  meetings  may  do  as  an  excuse  for  some 
things,"  he  said,  "  but  they  don't  explain  the  rest  —  his 
calls  here  every  other  evening  and  —  and  so  on.  Honest 
now,  Helen,  you  know  he  hasn't  been  running  after  you 


THE  PORTYGEE  161 

in  this  way  just  because  he  is  on  that  committee  with  you ; 
now  don't  you?" 

They  were  almost  at  the  parsonage.  The  light  irom  Mr. 
Kendall's  study  window  shone  through  the  leaves  of  the 
lilac  bush  behind  the  white  fence.  Helen  started  to  speak, 
but  hesitated.  He  repeated  his  question. 

"  Now  don't  you  ?  "  he  urged. 

"  Why,  why,  yes,  I  suppose  I  do,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  I 
do  know  —  now.  But  I  didn't  even  think  of  such  a  thing 
until  —  until  you  came  that  evening  and  told  me  what  Issy 
Price  said." 

"  You  mean  you  didn't  guess  at  all  ?  " 

"  Well  —  well,  perhaps  I  —  I  thought  he  liked  to  come  — 
liked  to  —  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  being  silly !  I  did  think 
he  liked  to  call,  but  only  as  a  friend.  He  was  jolly  and 
lots  of  fun  and  we  were  both  fond  of  music.  I  enjoyed 
his  company.  I  never  dreamed  that  there  was  anything 
more  than  that  until  you  came  and  were  so  —  disagreeable. 
And  even  then  I  didn't  believe —  until  to-night." 

Again  she  hesitated.  "  To-night  ?  "  he  repeated.  *'  What 
happened  to-night  ?  " 

"  Oh  nothing.  I  can't  tell  you.  Oh,  why  can't  friends 
be  friends  and  not.  .  .  .  That  is  why  I  spoke  to  you,  Al 
bert,  why  I  wanted  to  have  this  talk  with  you.  I  was  go 
ing  away  so  soon  and  I  couldn't  bear  to  go  with  any  un 
friendliness  between  us.  There  mustn't  be.  Don't  you 
see?" 

He  heard  but  a  part  of  this.  The  memory  of  Raymond's 
face  as  he  had  seen  it  when  the  young  man  'Strode  out  of 
the  cloakroom  and  out  of  the  hotel  came  back  to  him  and 
with  it  a  great  heart-throbbing  sense  of  relief,  of  triumph. 
He  seized  her  hand. 

"  Helen,"  he  cried,  "  did  he  —  did  you  tell  him  —  Oh, 
by  George,  Helen,  you're  the  most  wonderful  girl  in  the 
world !  I'm  —  I  —  Oh,  Helen,  you  know  I  —  I  — " 

It  was  not  his  habit  to  be  at  a  loss  for  words,  but  he  was 
just  then.  He  tried  to  retain  her  hand,  to  put  his  am? 
about  her. 


1 62  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Oh,  Helen !  "  he  cried.  "'You're  wonderful !  You're 
splendid!  I'm  crazy  about  you!  I  really  am!  I — " 

She  pushed  him  gently  away.  "  Don't !  Please  don't !  " 
she  said.  "  Oh,  don't !  " 

"  But  I  must.  Don't  you  see  I.  ...  Why,  you're  cry- 
ing!" 

Her  face  had,  for  a  moment,  been  upturned.  The  moon 
at  that  moment  had  slipped  behind  a  cloud,  but  the  lamp 
light  from  the  window  had  shown  him  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 
He  was  amazed.  He  could  have  shouted,  have  laughed 
aloud  from  joy  or  triumphant  exultation  just  then,  but  to 
weep!  What  occasion  was  there  for  tears,  except  on  Ed 
Raymond's  part? 

"  You're  crying !  "  he  repeated.     "  Why,  Helen  — !  " 

"  Don't!"  she  said,  again.  "Oh,  don't!  Please  don't 
talk  that  way." 

"  But  don't  you  want  me  to,  Helen  ?  I  —  I  want  you  to 
know  how  I  feel.  You  don't  understand.  I  — " 

"  Hush !  .  .  .  Don't,  A!,  don't,  please.  Don't  talk  in  that 
way.  I  don't  want  you  to." 

"But  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  because  I  don't.  It's  —  it  is  foolish.  You're  only 
a  boy,  you  know." 

"  A  boy !     I'm  more  than  a  year  older  than  you  are." 

"Are  you?  Why  yes,  I  suppose  you  are,  really.  But 
that  doesn't  make  any  difference.  I  guess  girls  are  older 
than  boys  when  they  are  our  age,  lots  older." 

"Oh,  bother  all  that!  We  aren't  kids,  either  of  us.  I 
want  you  to  listen.  You  don't  understand  what  I'm  try 
ing  to  say." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  But  I'm  sure  you  don't.  You  are  glad 
because  you  have  found  you  have  no  reason  to  be  jealous 
of  Ed  Raymond  and  that  makes  you  say  —  foolish  things. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  have  our  friendship  spoiled  in  that  way. 
I  want  us  to  be  real  friends,  always.  So  you  mustn't  be 
silly." 

"  I'm  not  silly.  Helen,  if  you  won't  listen  to  anything 
else,  will  you  listen  to  this?  Will  you  promise  me  that 


THE  PORTYGEE  163 

— 

while  you  are  away  you  won't  have  other  fellows  calling 
on  you  or  —  or  anything  like  that?  And  I'll  promise  you 
that  I'll  have  nothing  to  say  to  another  girl  —  in  any  way 
that  counts,  I  mean.  Shall  we  promise  each  other  that, 
Helen?  Come!" 

She  paused  for  some  moment  before  answering,  but  her 
reply,  when  it  came,  was  firm. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  we  should  promise  any 
thing,  except  to  remain  friends.  You  might  promise  and 
then  be  sorry,  later." 

"  /  might  ?     How  about  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  we  both  might.  So  we  won't  take  the  risk. 
You  may  come  and  see  me  to-morrow  evening  and  say 
good-by,  if  you  like.  But  you  mustn't  stay  long.  It  is  my 
last  night  with  father  for  some  time  and  I  mustn't  cheat  him 
out  of  it.  Good  night,  Albert.  I'm  so  glad  our  misunder 
standing  is  over,  aren't  you  ?  " 

44  Of  course  I  am.     But,  Helen—" 

"  I  must  go  in  now.     Good  night." 

The  reflections  of  Alberto  Speranza  during  his  walk  back 
to  the  Snow  place  were  varied  but  wonderful.  He  thought 
of  Raymond's  humiliation  and  gloried  in  it.  He  thought  of 
Helen  and  rhapsodized.  And  if,  occasionally,  he  thought 
also  of  the  dance  and  of  Madeline  Fosdick,  forgive  him.  He 
was  barely  twenty-one  and  the  moon  was  shining. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  good-by  call  the  following  evening  was,  to  him 
at  least,  not  very  satisfactory.  Helen  was  tired, 
having  been  busy  all  day  with  the  final  prepara 
tions  for  leaving,  and  old  Mr.  Kendall  insisted  on  being 
present  during  the  entire  visit  and  in  telling  long  and  in 
volved  stories  of  the  trip  abroad  he  had  made  when  a  young 
man  and  the  unfavorable  opinion  which  he  had  then  formed 
of  "Prussians  as  traveling  companions.  Albert's  opinion 
of  Prussians  was  at  least  as  unfavorable  as  his  own,  but 
his  complete  and  even  eager  agreement  with  each  of  the 
old  gentleman's  statements  did  not  have  the  effect  of  chok 
ing  the  latter  off,  but  rather  seemed  to  act  as  encourage 
ment  for  more.  When  ten  o'clock  came  and  it  was  time  to 
go  Albert  felt  as  if  he  had  been  listening  to  a  lecture  on 
the  Hohenzollerns.  "  Great  Scott,  Helen,"  he  whispered, 
as  she  came  to  the  door  with  him,  "  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  had 
talked  with  you  a  minute.  Why,  I  scarcely — " 

But  just  here  Mr.  Kendall  came  hurrying  from  the 
sitting-room  to  tell  of  one  incident  which  he  had  hitherto 
forgotten,  and  so  even  this  brief  interval  of  privacy  was 
denied.  But  Albert  made  one  more  attempt. 

"  I'm  going  to  run  over  to  the  station  to-morrow  morn 
ing  to  see  you  off,"  he  called  from  the  gate.  "  Good  night." 

The  morning  train  left  at  nine  o'clock,  and  at  a  quarter 
to  nine  Albert,  who  had  kept  his  eye  on  the  clock  ever  since 
eight,  his  hour  of  arriving  at  the  office,  called  to  Mr.  Price. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  and  one  as  casual  as  he 
could  assume,  "  I  am  going  to  run  out  for  a  few  minutes. 
I'll  be  right  back." 

Issachar's  response  was  as  usual  anything  but  low. 

"Eh?"  he  shouted.     "Coin'  out?    Where  you  goin'? 

164 


THE  PORTYGEE  165 

"Oh,  I'm  just  going  out  —  er  —  on  an  errand." 

"What  kind  of  an  errand?  I  was  cal-latin'  to  run  out 
myself  for  a  little  spell.  Can't  I  do  your  errand  for  you?" 

"  No,  no.  .  .  There,  there,  don't  bother  me  any  more. 
I'm  in  a  hurry." 

*'  Hurry !  So'm  I  in  a  hurry.  I  was  cal'latin'  to  run 
acrost  to  the  deepo  and  see  Helen  Kendall  start  for  Boston. 
She's  goin'  this  morning ;  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

Before  the  somewhat  flustered  assistant  bookkeeper  could 
reply  Captain  Zelotes  called  from  the  inner  office: 

"  Wouldn't  wonder  if  that  was  where  Al  was  bound,  too," 
he  observed.  "  And  I  was  thinkin'  of  the  same  thing.  Sup 
pose  we  all  go  together.  Labe'll  keep  shop,  won't  you, 
Labe?" 

Mr.  Keeler  looked  over  his  spectacles.  "Eh?"  he  ob 
served,  **  Oh,  yes,  yes  .  .  .  yes,  yes,  yes.  And  say  good- 
by  to  Helen  for  me,  some  of  you,  if  you  happen  to  think  of 
it.  Not  that  'twill  make  much  difference  to  her,"  he  added, 
"whether  she  gets  my  good-bys  or  not,  but  it  might  make 
some  to  me.  .  .  .  Um,  yes,  yes." 

Mr.  Price  was  eager  to  oblige. 

"  I'll  tell  her  you  sent  'em,  Labe,"  he  said,  patronizingly. 
"  Set  your  mind  to  rest;  I'll  tell  her." 

Laban's  lip  twitched.  "  Much  obliged,  Is,"  he  chirruped. 
"  That's  a  great  relief !  My  mind's  rested  some  already." 

So,  instead  of  going  alone  to  the  railway  station,  Albert 
made  one  of  a  delegation  of  three.  And  at  the  station  was 
Mr.  Kendall,  and  two  of  the  school  committee,  and  one 
or  two  members  of  the  church  sewing  circle,  and  the  presi 
dent  and  secretary  of  the  Society  for  the  Relief  of  the 
French  Wounded.  So  far  from  being  an  intimate  confi 
dential  farewell,  Helen's  departure  was  in  the  nature  of  a 
public  ceremony  with  speech-making.  Mr.  Price  made  most 
of  the  speeches,  in  fact  the  lower  portion  of  his  countenance 
was  in  violent  motion  most  of  the  ten  minutes. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  Helen,"  he  urged  loudly.  "  Don't 
you  worry  about  your  pa,  we'll  look  out  for  him.  And 
don't  let  none  of  them  Boston  fellers  carry  you  off.  We'll 


1 66  THE  PORTYGEE 

watch  and  see  that  Eddie  Raymond  and  Al  here  don't  get 
into  mischief  while  you're  gone.  I  ...  Crimustee!  Jim 
Young,  what  in  time's  the  matter  with  you?  Can't  ye  see 
nothin'?" 

This  last  outburst  was  directed  at  the  driver  of  the  depot- 
wagon,  who,  wheeling  a  trunk  on  a  baggage  truck,  had 
bumped  violently  into  the  rear  of  Mr.  Price's  legs,  just  at 
the  knee  joint,  causing  their  owner  to  bend  backward  un 
expectedly,  and  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Can't  you  see  nothin'  when  it's  right  in  front  of  ye  ?  " 
demanded  Issachar,  righteously  indignant. 

Jim  Young  winked  over  his  shoulder  at  Albert  "  Sorry, 
Is,"  he  said,  as  he  continued  toward  the  baggage  car.  '*  I 
didn't  notice  you  was  in  front  of  me." 

"Well,  then,  you'd  better.  ...  Eh?  See  here,  what  do 
you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

Even  after  Mr.  Price  had.Jius  been  pushed  out  of  the 
foreground,  so  to  speak,  Albert  was  denied  the  opportunity 
of  taking  his  place  by  Helen's  side.  Her  father  had  a  few 
last  messages  to  deliver,  then  Captain  Zelotes  shook  her  hand 
and  talked  for  a  moment,  and,  after  that,  the  ladies  of  the 
sewing  circle  and  the  war  work  society  felt  it  their  duty  to, 
severally  and  jointly,  kiss  her  good-by.  This  last  was  a 
trying  operation  to  watch. 

Then  the  engine  bell  rang  and  the  train  began  to  move. 
Albert,  running  beside  the  platform  of  the  last  car,  held  up 
his  hand  for  a  farewell  clasp. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  and  added  in  a  whisper,  "  You'll 
write,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Of  course.     And  so  must  you.     Good-by." 

The  last  car  and  the  handkerchief  waving  figure  on  its 
platform  disappeared  around  the  curve.  The  little  group 
by  the  station  broke  up.  Albert  and  his  grandfather  walked 
over  to  the  office  together. 

;'  There  goes  a  good  girl,  Al,"  was  Captain  Lote's  only 
comment.  "  A  mighty  good  capable  girl." 

Albert  nodded.  A  moment  later  he  lifted  his  hat  to  a 
group  in  a  passing  automobile. 


THE  PORTYGEE  167 

"Who  were  those  folks?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"  The  Fosdicks,"  was  the  reply.  4<  The  people  who  are 
going  to  build  down  by  the  Inlet." 

It  was  Madeline  and  her  mother.  The  latter  had  been 
serenely  indifferent,  but  the  young  lady  had  smiled  and 
bowed  behind  the  maternal  shoulders. 

"  Oh ;  that  so  ?  "  observed  Captain  Zelotes,  looking  after 
the  flying  car  with  interest.  **  That's  who  'tis,  eh  ?  Nice 
lookin',  the  young  one,  ain't  she  ?  " 

Albert  did  not  answer.  With  the  noise  of  the  train  which 
was  carrying  Helen  out  of  his  life  still  ringing  in  his  ears 
it  seemed  wicked  even  to  mention  another  girl's  name,  to 
say  nothing  of  commenting  upon  her  good  looks.  For  the 
rest  of  that  day  he  was  a  gloomy  spirit,  a  dark  shadow  in 
the  office  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co. 

Before  the  end  of  another  fortnight  the  season  at  South 
Harniss  was  definitely  over.  The  hotel  closed  on  the  Satur 
day  following  the  dance,  and  by  October  first  the  last  of 
the  cottages  was  locked  and  shuttered.  The  Kelseys  went 
on  the  twentieth  and  the  Fosdicks  went  with  them.  Albert 
met  Madeline  and  Jane  at  the  post-office  in  the  evening  of 
the  nineteenth  and  there  more  farewells  were  said. 

'*  Don't  forget  us  down  here  in  the  sand,  will  you  ?  "  he 
suggested  to  Miss  Fosdick.  It  was  Jane  Kelsey  who  an 
swered. 

"  Oh,  she  won't  forget,"  returned  that  young  lady. 
"  Why  she  has  your  photograph  to  remember  you  by." 

Madeline  colored  becomingly  and  was,  as  Jane  described 
it,  "  awfully  fussed." 

"  Nonsense !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  much  indignation,  '*  I 
haven't  any  such  thing.  You  know  I  haven't,  Jane." 

"  Yes,  you  have,  my  dear.  You  have  a  photograph  of  him 
standing  in  front  of  the  drug  store  and  looking  dreamily  in 
at  —  at  the  strawberry  sundaes.  It  is  a  most  romantic  pose, 
really." 

Albert  laughed.  He  remembered  the  photograph.  It 
was  one  of  a  series  of  snapshots  taken  with  Miss  Kelsey's 
camera  one  Saturday  afternoon  when  a  party  of  young  peo- 


1 68  THE  PORTYGEE 

pie  had  met  in  front  of  the  sundae  dispensary.  Jane  had 
insisted  on  4<  snapping  "  everyone. 

"  That  reminds  me  that  I  have  never  seen  the  rest  of  those 
photographs/'  he  said. 

"  Haven't  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Jane.  "  Well,  you  ought  to 
see  them.  I  have  Madeline's  with  me.  It  is  a  dream,  if  I 
do  say  it  as  I  took  it." 

She  produced  the  snapshot,  which  showed  her  friend 
standing  beside  the  silver-leaf  tree  before  the  druggist's  win 
dow  and  smiling  at  the  camera.  It  was  a  good  likeness 
and,  consequently,  a  very  pretty  picture. 

*'  Isn't  it  a  dream,  just  as  I  said?  "  demanded  the  artist. 
"  Honest  now,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Albert  of  course  declared  it  to  be  beyond  praise. 

"  May  I  have  this  one?  "  he  asked,  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment. 

"  Don't  ask  me,  stupid,"  commanded  Jane,  mischievously. 
"  It  isn't  my  funeral  —  or  my  portrait,  either." 

"  May  I  ?  "  he  repeated,  turning  to  Madeline.  She  hesi 
tated. 

"  Why  —  why  yes,  you  may,  if  you  care  for  it,"  she  said. 
"  That  particular  one  is  Jane's,  anyway,  and  if  she  chooses 
to  give  it  away  I  don't  see  how  I  can  prevent  her.  But  why 
you  should  want  the  old  thing  I  can't  conceive.  I  look  as 
stiff  and  wooden  as  a  sign-post." 

Jane  held  up  a  protesting  finger. 

"  Fibs,  fibs,  fibs,"  she  observed.  "  Can't  conceive  why  he 
should  want  it !  As  if  you  weren't  perfectly  aware  that  he 
will  wear  it  next  his  heart  and —  Oh,  don't  put  it  in  that 
pocket !  I  said  next  your  heart,  and  that  isn't  on  your  right 
side." 

Albert  took  the  photograph  home  and  stuck  it  between 
the  frame  and  glass  of  his  bureau.  Then  came  a  sudden 
remembrance  of  his  parting  with  Helen  and  with  it  a 
twinge  of  conscience.  He  had  begged  her  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  any  other  fellow.  True  she  had  refused  to 
promise  and  consequently  he  also  was  unbound,  but  that 
made  no  difference  —  should  not  make  any.  So  he  put  the 


THE  PORTYGEE  169 

photograph  at  the  back  of  the  drawer  where  he  kept  his 
collars  and  ties,  with  a  resolve  never  to  look  at  it.  He  did 
not  look  at  it  —  very  often. 

Then  came  another  long  winter.  He  ground  away  at  the 
bookkeeping  —  he  was  more  proficient  at  it,  but  he  hated 
it  as  heartily  as  ever  —  and  wrote  a  good  deal  of  verse  and 
some  prose.  For  the  first  time  he  sold  a  prose  article,  a 
short  story,  to  a  minor  magazine.  He  wrote  long  letters  to 
Helen  and  she  replied.  She  was  studying  hard,  she  liked 
her  work,  and  she  had  been  offered  the  opportunity  to  tutor 
in  a  girls'  summer  camp  in  Vermont  during  July  and  August 
and  meant  to  accept  provided  her  father's  health  continued 
good.  Albert  protested  violently  against  her  being  absent 
from  South  Harniss  for  so  long.  "  You  will  scarcely  be 
home  at  all,"  he  wrote.  "  I  shall  hardly  see  you.  What 
am  I  going  to  do  ?  As  it  is  now  I  miss  you  — "  and  so  on 
for  four  closely  written  pages.  Having  gotten  into  the 
spirit  of  composition  he,  so  to  speak,  gloried  in  his  loneli 
ness,  so  much  so  that  Helen  was  moved  to  remonstrate. 
"  Your  letter  made  me  almost  miserable,"  she  wrote,  "  until 
I  had  read  it  over  twice.  Then  I  began  to  suspect  that 
you  were  enjoying  your  wretchedness,  or  enjoying  writing 
about  it.  I  truly  don't  believe  anyone  —  you  especially  — 
could  be  quite  as  lonesome  as  all  that.  Honestly  now,  Al 
bert,  weren't  you  exaggerating  a  little?  I  rather  think 
you  were  ?  " 

He  had  been,  of  course,  but  it  irritated  him  to  think  that 
she  recognized  the  fact.  She  had  an  uncanny  faculty  of  see 
ing  through  his  every  pretense.  In  his  next  letter  he  said 
nothing  whatever  about  being  lonesome. 

At  home,  and  at  the  office,  the  war  was  what  people 
talked  about  most  of  the  time.  Since  the  Lusitania's  sink 
ing  Captain  Zelotes  had  been  a  battle  charger  chafing  at  the 
bit.  He  wanted  to  fight  and  to  fight  at  once. 

"  We've  got  to  do  it,  Mother,"  he  declared,  over  and  over 
again.  "  Sooner  or  later  we've  got  to  fight  that  Kaiser 
gang.  What  are  we  waitin'  for;  will  somebody  tell  me 
that?" 


1 70  THE  PORTYGEE 

Olive,  as  usual,  was  mild  and  unruffled. 

"  Probably  the  President  knows  as  much  about  it  as  you 
and  me,  Zelotes,"  she  suggested.  <4 1  presume  likely  he  has 
his  own  reasons." 

"  Humph !  When  Seth  Bassett  got  up  in  the  night  and 
took  a  drink  out  of  the  bottle  of  Paris  Green  by  mistake 
JBial  Cahoon  asked  him  what  in  time  he  kef>t  Paris^  Green 
in  his  bedroom  for,  anyhow.  All  that  Seth  would  say  was 
that  he  had  his  own  reasons.  The  rest  of  the  town  was 
left  to  guess  what  those  reasons  was.  That's  what  the 
President's  doin' — keepin'  us  guessin'.  By  the  everlastin', 
if  I  was  younger  I'd  ship  aboard  a  British  lime-juicer  and 
go  and  fight,  myself !  " 

It  was  Rachel  Ellis  who  caused  the  Captain  to  be  a  bit 
more  restrained  in  his  remarks. 

"  You  hadn't  ought  to  talk  that  way,  Cap'n  Lote,"  she 
said.  **  Not  when  Albert's  around,  you  hadn't." 

"Eh?     Why  not?" 

"  Because  the  first  thing  you  know  he'll  be  startin'  for 
Canada  to  enlist.  He's  been  crazy  to  do  it  for  'most  a  year." 

"  He  has  ?     How  do  you  know  he  has  ?  " 

*'  Because  he's  told  me  so,  more'n  once." 

Her  employer  looked  at  her. 

"  Humph !  "  he  grunted.  "  He  seems  to  tell  you  a  good 
many  things  he  doesn't  tell  the  rest  of  us." 

The  housekeeper  nodded.  **  Yes,"  she  said  gravely,  "  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  did."  A  moment  later  she  added, 
44  Cap'n  Lote,  you  will  be  careful,  won't  you  ?  You  wouldn't 
want  Al  to  go  off  and  leave  Z.  Snow  and  Company  when  him 
and  you  are  gettin'  on  so  much  better.  You  are  gettin'  on 
better,  ain't  you  ?  " 

The  captain  pulled  at  his  beard. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  <4  seems  as  if  we  was.  He  ain't  any 
wonder  at  bookkeepin',  but  he's  better'n  he  used  to  be ;  and 
he  does  seem  to  try  hard,  I'll  say  that  for  him." 

Rachael  beamed  gratification.  "  He'll  be  a  Robert  Pen- 
fold  yet,"  she  declared ;  "  see  if  he  isn't.  So  you  musn't 
encourage  him  into  enlistin'  in  the  Canadian  army.  You 


THE  PORTYGEE  171 

wouldn't  want  him  to  do  that  any  more'n  the  rest  of  us 
would." 

The  captain  gazed  intently  into  the  bowl  of  the  pipe  which 
he  had  been  cleaning.  He  made  no  answer. 

"You  wouldn't  want  him  to  do  that,  would  you?"  re 
peated  the  housekeeper. 

Captain  Lote  blew  through  the  pipe  stem.  Then  he  said, 
**  No,  I  wouldn't  .  .  .  but  I'm  darn  glad  he's  got  the  spunk 
to  want  to  do  it.  We  may  get  that  Portygee  streak  out  of 
him,  poetry  and  all,  give  us  time ;  eh,  Rachael  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  in  months  that  he  had  used  the  word 
*'  Portygee  "  in  connection  with  his  grandson.  Mrs.  Ellis 
smiled  to  herself. 

In  April  the  arbutus  buds  began  to  appear  above  the  leaf 
mold  between  the  scrub  oaks  in  the  woods,  and  the  walls 
of  Fletcher  Fosdick's  new  summer  home  began  to  rise  above 
the  young  pines  on  the  hill  by  the  Inlet  in  the  Bay  Road. 
The  Item  kept  its  readers  informed,  by  weekly  installments, 
of  the  progress  made  by  the  builders. 

The  lumber  for  Mr.  Fletcher  Fosdick's  new  cottage  is  be 
ginning  to  be  hauled  to  his  property  on  Inlet  Hill  in  this  town. 
Our  enterprising  firm  of  South  Harniss  dealers,  Z.  Snow  &  Co., 
are  furnishing  said  lumber.  Mr.  Nehemiah  Nickerson  is  to  do 
the  mason  work.  Mr.  Fosdick  shows  good  judgment  as  well  as 
a  commendable  spirit  in  engaging  local  talent  in  this  way.  We 
venture  to  say  he  will  never  regret  it. 

A  week  later : 

Mr.  Fletcher  Fosdick's  new  residence  is  beginning  building, 
the  foundation  being  pretty  near  laid. 

And  the  following  week : 

The  Fosdick  mansion  is  growing  fast.  South  Harniss  may 
well  be  proud  of  its  new  ornament. 

The  rise  in  three  successive  numbers  from  *'  cottage  "  to 
"  mansion  "  is  perhaps  sufficient  to  indicate  that  the  Fosdick 
summer  home  was  to  be,  as  Issachar  Price  described  it, 


I72  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Some  considerable  house !  Yes  sir,  by  crimus,  some  con 
siderable!" 

In  June,  Helen  came  home  for  a  week.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  she  left  to  take  up  her  new  duties  at  the  summer 
camp  for  girls  in  Vermont.  Albert  and  she  were  together 
a  good  deal  during  that  week.  Anticipating  her  arrival, 
the  young  man's  ardent  imagination  had  again  fanned  what 
he  delighted  to  think  of  as  his  love  for  her  into  flame.  Dur 
ing  the  last  months  of  the  winter  he  had  not  played  the 
languishing  swain  as  conscientiously  as  during  the  autumn. 
•Like  the  3ailor  in  the  song  "  'is  'eart  was  true  to  Poll "  al 
ways,  but  he  had  broken  away  from  his  self-imposed  her 
mitage  in  his  room  at  the  Snow  place  several  times  to  at 
tend  sociables,  entertainments  and,  even,  dances.  Now, 
when  she  returned  he  was  eagerly  awaiting  her  and  would 
have  haunted  the  parsonage  before  and  after  working  hours 
of  every  day  as  well  as  the  evening,  if  she  had  permitted, 
and  when  with  her  assumed  a  proprietary  air  which  was 
so  obvious  that  even  Mr.  Price  felt  called  upon  to  comment 
on  it. 

"  Say,  Al,"  drawled  Issachar,  "  cal'late  you've  cut  out 
Eddie  Raymond  along  with  Helen,  ain't  ye?  Don't  see 
him  hangin'  around  any  since  she  got  back,  and  the  way  you 
was  actin'  when  I  see  you  struttin'  into  the  parsonage  yard 
last  night  afore  mail  time  made  me  think  you  must  have  a 
first  mortgage  on  Helen  and  her  pa  and  the  house  and  the 
meetin'-house  and  two-thirds  of  the  graveyard.  I  never  see 
such  an  important-lookin'  critter  in  my  life.  Haw,  haw ! 
Eh?  How  'bout  it?" 

Albert  did  not  mind  the  Price  sarcasm;  instead  he  felt 
rather  grateful  to  have  the  proletariat  recognize  that  he  had 
triumphed  again.  The  fly  in  his  ointment,  so  to  speak,  was 
the  fact  that  Helen  herself  did  not  in  the  least  recognize  that 
triumph.  She  laughed  at  him. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  please,  please,  don't,"  she 
begged. 

"  Why  not?  "  with  a  repetition  of  the  look. 

"  Because  it  is  silly." 


THE  PORTYGEE  173 

"Silly!  Well,  I  like  that!  Aren't  you  and  I  engaged? 
Or  just  the  same  as  engaged?" 

"  No,  of  course  we  are  not." 

44  But  we  promised  each  other  — " 

"  No,  we  did  not.     And  you  know  we  didn't." 

*'  Helen,  why  do  you  treat  me  that  way  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  —  that  I  just  worship  the  ground  you  tread  on?  Don't 
you  know  you're  the  only  girl  in  this  world  I  could  ever 
care  for  ?  Don't  you  know  that  ?  " 

They  were  walking  home  from  church  Sunday  morning 
and  had  reached  the  corner  below  the  parsonage.  There, 
screened  by  the  thicket  of  young  silver-ieafs,  she  stopped 
momentarily  and  looked  into  his  face.  Then  she  walked 
on. 

"  Don't  you  know  how  much  I  care  ?  "  he  repeated. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  think  you  do  now,  perhaps," 
she  said,  "  but  you  will  change  your  mind." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?     How  do  you  know  I  will  ?  " 

"  Because  I  know  you.  There,  there,  Albert,  we  won't 
quarrel,  will  we?  And  we  won't  be  silly.  You're  an  aw 
fully  nice  boy,  but  you  are  just  a  boy,  you  know." 

He  was  losing  his  temper. 

*'  This  is  ridiculous !  "  he  declared.  "  I'm  tired  of  being 
grandmothered  by  you.  I'm  older  than  you  are,  and  I 
know  what  I'm  doing.  Come,  Helen,  listen  to  me." 

But  she  would  not  listen,  and  although  she  was  always 
kind  and  frank  and  friendly,  she  invariably  refused  to  per 
mit  him  to  become  sentimental.  It  irritated  him,  and  after 
she  had  gone  the  irritation  still  remained.  He  wrote  her  as 
before,  although  not  quite  so  often,  and  the  letters  were  pos 
sibly  not  quite  so  long.  His  pride  was  hurt  and  the  Spe- 
ranza  pride  was  a  tender  and  important  part  of  the  Speranza 
being.  If  Helen  noted  any  change  in  his  letters  she  did  not 
refer  to  it  nor  permit  it  to  influence  her  own,  which  were, 
as  always,  lengthy,  cheerful,  and  full  of  interest  in  him  and 
his  work  and  thoughts. 

During  the  previous  fall,  while  under  the  new  influence 
aroused  in  him  by  his  discovery  that  Helen  Kendall  was 


174  THE  PORTYGEE 

'*  the  most  wonderful  girl  in  the  world,"  said  discovery  of 
course  having  been  previously  made  for  him  by  the  unfor 
tunate  Raymond,  he  had  developed  a  habit  of  wandering  off 
into  the  woods  or  by  the  seashore  to  be  alone  and  to  seek 
inspiration.  When  a  young  poet  is  in  love,  or  fancies  him 
self  in  love,  inspiration  is  usually  to  be  found  wherever 
sought,  but  even  at  that  age  and  to  one  in  that  condition 
solitude  is  a  marked  aid  in  the  search.  There  were  two  or 
three  spots  which  had  become  Albert  Speranza's  favorites. 
One  was  a  high,  wind-swept  knoll,  overlooking  the  bay,  about 
a  half  mile  from  the  hotel,  another  was  a  secluded  nook  in 
the  pine  grove  beside  Carver's  Pond,  a  pretty  little  sheet 
of  water  on  the  Bayport  boundary.  On  pleasant  Saturday 
afternoons  or  Sundays,  when  the  poetic  fit  was  on  him, 
Albert,  with  a  half  dozen  pencils  in  his  pocket,  and  a  rhym 
ing  dictionary  and  a  scribbling  pad  in  another,  was  wont  to 
stroll  towards  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  retreats.  There 
he  would  sprawl  amid  the  beachgrass  or  upon  the  pine- 
needles  and  dream  and  think  and,  perhaps,  ultimately  write. 

One  fair  Saturday  in  late  June  he  was  at  the  first  of  these 
respective  points.  Lying  prone  on  the  beach  grass  at  the 
top  of  the  knoll  and  peering  idly  out  between  its  stems  at 
the  water  shimmering  in  the  summer  sun,  he  was  endeavor 
ing  to  find  a  subject  for  a  poem  which  should  deal  with 
love  and  war  as  requested  by  the  editor  of  the  Columbian 
Magazine.  "  Give  us  something  with  a  girl  and  a  soldier  in 
it,"  the  editor  had  written.  Albert's  mind  was  lazily  drift 
ing  in  search  of  the  pleasing  combination. 

The  sun  was  warm,  the  breeze  was  light,  the  horizon  was 
veiled  with  a  liquid  haze.  Albert's  mind  was  veiled  with  a 
similar  haze  and  the  idea  he  wanted  would  not  come.  He 
was  losing  his  desire  to  find  it  and  was,  in  fact,  dropping 
into  a  doze  when  aroused  by  a  blood-curdling  outburst  of 
•barks  and  yelps  and  growls  behind  him,  at  his  very  heels. 
He  came  out  of  his  nap  with  a  jump  and,  scrambling  to  a 
sitting  position  and  turning,  he  saw  a  small  Boston  bull- 
terrier  standing  within  a  yard  of  his  ankles  and,  apparently, 
trying  to  turn  his  brindled  outside  in,  or  his  inside  out,  with 


THE  PORTYGEE  175 

spiteful  ferocity.  Plainly  the  dog  had  come  upon  him  unex 
pectedly  and  was  expressing  alarm,  suspicion  and  disap 
proval. 

Albert  jerked  his  ankles  out  of  the  way  and  said  "  Helio, 
boy,"  in  as  cheerfully  cordial  a  tone  as  he  could  muster  at 
such  short  notice.  The  dog  took  a  step  forward,  evidently 
with  the  idea  of  always  keeping  the  ankles  within  jumping 
distance,  showed  a  double  row  of  healthy  teeth  and  growled 
and  barked  with  renewed  violence. 

"  Nice  dog,"  observed  Albert.  The  nice  dog  made  a  snap 
at  the  nearest  ankle  and,  balked  of  his  prey  by  a  frenzied 
kick  of  the  foot  attached  to  the  ankle,  shrieked,  snarled  and 
gurgled  like  a  canine  lunatic. 

"  Go  home,  you  ugly  brute,"  commanded  the  young  man, 
losing  patience,  and  looking  about  for  a  stone  or  stick.  On 
the  top  of  that  knoll  the  largest  stone  was  the  size  of  a  buck 
shot  and  the  nearest  stick  was,  to  be  Irish,  a  straw. 

"  Nice  doggie !  Nice  old  boy !  Come  and  be  patted !  .  .  . 
Clear  out  with  you !  Go  home,  you  beast !  " 

Flatteries  and  threats  were  alike  in  their  result.  The  dog 
continued  to  snarl  and  growl,  darting  toward  the  ankles 
occasionally.  Evidently  he  was  mustering  courage  for  the 
attack.  Albert  in  desperation  scooped  up  a  handful  of  sand, 
If  worst  came  to  worst  he  might  blind  the  creature  tempo 
rarily.  What  would  happen  after  that  was  not  clear.  Un 
less  he  might  by  a  lucky  cast  fill  the  dog's  interior  so  full 
of  sand  that  —  like  the  famous  "  Jumping  Frog  "  —  it  would 
be  too  heavy  to  navigate,  he  saw  no  way  of  escape  from  a 
painful  bite,  probably  more  than  one.  What  Captain 
Zelotes  had  formerly  called  his  "  Portygee  temper  "  flared 
up. 

"  Oh,  damn  you,  clear  out !  "  he  shouted,  springing  to  his 
feet 

From  a  little  way  below  him ;  in  fact,  from  behind  the  next 
dune,  between  himself  and  the  beach,  a  feminine  voice  called 
his  name. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Speranza!"  it  said.  "Is  it  you?  I'm  so 
glad!" 


i;6  THE  PORTYGEE 

Albert  turned,  but  the  moment  he  did  so  the  dog  made  a 
dash  at  his  legs,  so  he  was  obliged  to  turn  back  again  and 
kick  violently. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  it  is  you,"  said  the  voice  again.  "1 
was  sure  it  was  a  dreadful  tramp.  Googoo  loathes  tramps." 

As  an  article  of  diet  that  meant,  probably.  Googoo  —  if 
that  was  the  dog's  name  —  was  passionately  fond  of  poets, 
that  was  self-evident,  and  intended  to  make  a  meal  of  this 
one,  forthwith.  He  flew  at  the  Speranza  ankles.  Albert 
performed  a  most  undignified  war  dance,  and  dashed  his 
handful  of  sand  into  Googoo's  open  countenance.  For  a 
minute  or  so  there  was  a  lively  shindy  on  top  of  that  knoll. 
At  the  end  of  the  minute  the  dog,  held  tightly  in  a  pair  of 
feminine  arms,  was  emitting  growls  and  cc'ighs  and  sand, 
while  Madeline  Fosdick  and  Albert  Speranza  were  kneeling 
in  more  sand  and  looking  at  each  other. 

"  Oh,  did  he  bite  you  ?  "  begged  Miss  Fosdick. 

"  No  .  .  .  no,  I  guess  not,"  was  the  reply.  "I  —  I 
scarcely  know  yet.  .  .  .  Why,  when  did  you  come  ?  I  didn't 
know  you  were  in  town." 

'*  We  came  yesterday.  Motored  from  home,  you  know. 
I  —  be  still,  Goo,  you  bad  thing !  It  was  such  a  lovely  day 
that  I  couldn't  resist  going  for  a  walk  along  the  beach.  I 
took  Googoo  because  he  does  love  it  so,  and  —  Goo,  be  still, 
I  tell  you !  I  am  sure  he  thinks  you  are  a  tramp,  out  here 
all  alone  in  the  —  in  the  wilderness.  And  what  were  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

Albert  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  was  half  asleep,  I  guess," 
he  said,  '*  when  he  broke  loose  at  my  heels.  I  woke  up  quick 
enough  then,  as  you  may  imagine.  And  so  you  are  here  for 
the  summer  ?  Your  new  house  isn't  finished,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  not  quite.  Mother  and  Goo  and  I  are  at  the  hotel 
for  a  month.  But  you  haven't  answered  my  question.  What 
were  you  doing  off  here  all  alone?  Have  you  been  for  a 
walk,  too?" 

"  Not  exactly.  I  —  well,  I  come  here  pretty  often.  It  is 
one  of  my  favorite  hiding  places.  You  see,  I  ...  don't 
laugh  if  I  tell  you,  will  you?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  177 

"Of  course  not.  Go  on ;  this  is  very  mysterious  and  in 
teresting." 

"  Well,  I  come  here  sometimes  on  pleasant  days,  to  be 
alone  —  and  write." 

"  Write  ?    Write  poetry,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  how  wonderful !  Were  you  writing  when  I  -—  when 
Goo  interrupted  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  had  made  two  or  three  attempts,  but  nothing  that 
I  did  satisfied  me.  I  had  just  about  decided  to  tear  them  up 
and  to  give  up  trying  for  this  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  won't  tear  them  up.  I'm  sure  they 
shouldn't  be.  Perhaps  you  were  not  in  a  proper  mood  to 
judge,  yourself." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Perhaps  they  might  look  a  little  less  hope 
less  to  some  one  else.  But  that  person  would  have  to  be 
really  interested,  and  there  are  few  people  in  South  Harniss 
who  know  or  care  anything  about  poetry." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  true.  I  —  I  dor't  suppose  you  would 
care  to  show  them  to  me,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Why,"  eagerly,  "  would  you  really  care  to  see  them  ?  " 

'*  Indeed  I  should !  Not  that  my  judgment  or  advice  is 
worth  anything,  of  course.  But  I  am  very,  very  fond  of 
poetry,  and  to  see  how  a  real  poet  wrote  would  be  wonder 
ful.  And  if  I  could  help  you,  even  the  least  little  bit,  it 
would  be  such  an  honor." 

Tins  sort  of  thing  was  balm  to  the  Speranza  spirit.  Al 
bert's  temperamental  ego  expanded  under  it  like  a  rosebud 
under  a  summer  sun.  Yet  there  was  a  faint  shadow  of 
doubt  —  she  might  be  making  fun  of  him.  He  looked  at 
her  intently  and  she  seemed  to  read  his  thoughts,  for  she 
said: 

"  Oh,  I  mean  it !  Please  believe  I  do.  I  haven't  spoken 
that  way  when  Jane  was  with  me,  for  she  wouldn't  under 
stand  and  would  laugh,  but  I  mean  it,  Mr.  Speranza.  It 
would  be  an  honor  —  a  great  honor." 

So  the  still  protesting  and  rebellious  Googoo  was  com 
pelled  to  go  a  few  feet  away  and  lie  down,  while  his  mis- 


178  THE  PORTYGEE 

tress  and  the  young  man  whom  he  had  attempted  to  devour 
bent  their  heads  together  over  a  scribbling-pad  and  talked 
and  exclaimed  during  the  whole  of  that  hour  and  a  full  three- 
quarters  of  the  next.  Then  the  distant  town  clock  in  the 
steeple  of  the  Congregational  church  boomed  five  times  and 
Miss  Fosdick  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  it  can't  really  be  five  o'clock,  can  it  ? 
But  it  is!  What  will  mother  fancy  has  become  of  me? 
I  must  go  this  minute.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Speranza.  I 
have  enjoyed  this  so  much.  It  has  been  a  wonderful  ex 
perience." 

Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes  were  shining.  She 
had  grown  handsomer  than  ever  during  the  winter  months. 
Albert's  eyes  were  shining  also  as  he  impulsively  seized 
her  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Fosdick,"  he  said.  "  You  have  helped 
me  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I  was  about  to  give  up  in 
despair  before  you  came,  and  now  —  now  I  know  I  shall 
write  the  best  thing  I  have  ever  done.  And  you  will  be 
responsible  for  it." 

She  caught  her  breath.  "  Oh,  not  really !  "  she  exclaimed. 
*'  You  don't  mean  it,  really  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do !  If  I  might  have  your  help  and  sympathy 
once  in  awhile,  I  believe  —  I  believe  I  could  do  almost  any 
thing.  Will  you  help  me  again  some  day  ?  I  shall  be  here 
almost  every  pleasant  Saturday  and  Sunday  afternoon.  Will 
you  come  again  ?  " 

She  hesitated.  "I  —  I'll  see ;  perhaps,"  she  answered 
hurriedly.  "  But  I  must  go  now.  Come,  Goo." 

She  hastened  away,  down  the  knoll  and  along  the  beach 
toward  the  hotel.  Googoo  followed  her,  turning  occasion 
ally  to  cast  diabolical  glances  at  the  Speranza  ankles.  Al 
bert  gazed  until  the  graceful  figure  in  the  trim  sport  costume 
disappeared  behind  the  corner  of  the  point  of  the  beach. 
Just  at  the  point  she  paused  to  wave  to  him.  He  waved  in 
return.  Then  he  tramped  homeward.  There  was  deep 
sand  beneath  his  feet  and,  later,  pine-needles  and  grass. 
They  were  all  alike  to  him,  for  he  was  traveling  on  air. 


THE  PORTYGEE  179 

That  evening  at  supper  his  radiant  appearance  caused 
comment. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  happy,  Albert  ?  "  asked  his 
grandmother.  "  Seems  to  me  I  never  saw  you  look  so  sort 
of  —  well,  glorified,  as  you  might  say.  What  is  the  rea 
son?" 

The  glorified  one  reddened  and  was  confused.  He  stam 
mered  that  he  did  not  know,  he  was  not  aware  of  any  par 
ticular  reason. 

Mrs.  Ellis  beamed  upon  him.  "  I  presume  likely  his 
bookkeepin'  at  the  office  has  been  goin'  pretty  well  lately," 
she  suggested. 

Captain  Zelote's  gray  eyes  twinkled.  "  Cal'late  he's  been 
makin'  up  more  poetry  about  girls,"  was  his  offering.  "  An 
other  one  of  those  pieces  about  teeth  like  pearls  and  hair  all 
curls,  or  somethin'  like  that.  Say,  Al,  why  don't  you  poetry- 
makin'  fellers  try  a  new  one  once  in  a  while  ?  Say,  '  Her 
hair's  like  rope  and  her  face  has  lost  hope/  Eh?  Why 
not,  for  a  change  ?  " 

The  protests  on  the  part  of  Olive  and  the  housekeeper 
against  the  captain's  innovation  in  poetry-making  had  the 
effect  of  distracting  attention  from  Albert's  "  glorified " 
appearance.  The  young  man  himself  was  thankful  for  the 
respite. 

That  night  before  he  retired  he  took  Madeline  Fosdick's 
photograph  from  the  back  of  the  drawer  among  the  ties  and 
collars  and  looked  at  it  for  five  minutes  at  least.  She  was 
a  handsome  girl,  certainly.  Not  that  that  made  any  differ 
ence  to  him.  And  she  was  an  intelligent  girl;  she  under 
stood  his  puetry  and  appreciated  it.  Yes,  and  she  under 
stood  him,  too,  almost  as  well  as  Helen.  .  .  .  Helen!  He 
hastily  returned  the  Fosdick  photograph  to  the  drawer ;  but 
this  time  he  did  not  put  it  quite  so  near  the  back. 

On  the  following  Saturday  he  was  early  at  the  knoll,  a 
brand-new  scribbling-pad  in  his  pocket  and  in  his  mind 
divine  gerns  which  were  later,  and  with  Miss  Fosdick's 
assistance,  to  be  strung  ,nto  a  glittering  necklace  of  lyric 
song  and  draped,  with  the  stringer's  compliments,  about  the 


i8o  THE  PORTYGEE 

throat  of  a  grateful  muse.  But  no  gems  were  strung  that 
day.  Madeline  did  not  put  in  an  appearance,  and  by  and 
by  it  began  to  rain,  and  Albert  walked  home,  damp,  de 
jected,  and  disgusted.  When,  a  day  or  two  later,  he  met 
Miss  Fosdick  at  the  post  office  and  asked  why  she  had  not 
come  he  learned  that  her  mother  had  insisted  upon  a  motor 
trip  to  Wapatomac  that  afternoon. 

'*  Besides,"  she  said,  "  you  surely  mustn't  expect  me  every 
Saturday." 

<4  No,"  he  admitted  grudgingly,  '*  I  suppose  not.  But  you 
will  come  sometimes,  won't  you?  I  have  a  perfectly  lovely 
idea  for  a  ballad  and  I  want  to  ask  your  advice  about  it." 

"  Oh,  do  you  really  ?  You're  not  making  fun  ?  You 
mean  that  my  advice  is  really  worth  something?  I  can't 
believe  it." 

He  convinced  her  that  it  was,  and  the  next  Saturday  af 
ternoon  they  spent  together  at  the  inspiration  point  among 
the  dunes,  at  work  upon  the  ballad.  It  was  not  finished  on 
that  occasion,  nor  on  the  next,  for  it  was  an  unusually  long 
ballad,  but  progress  was  made,  glorious  progress. 

And  so,  during  that  Summer,  as  the  Fosdick  residence 
upon  the  Bay  Road  grew  and  grew,  so  did  the  acquaintance 
ship,  the  friendship,  the  poetic  partnership  between  the  Fos 
dick  daughter  and  the  grandson  of  Captain  Zelotes  Snow 
grow  and  grow.  They  met  almost  every  Saturday,  they 
met  at  the  post  office  on  week  evenings,  occasionally  they 
saw  each  other  for  a  moment  after  church  on  Sunday  morn 
ings.  Mrs.  Fletcher  Fosdick  could  not  imagine  why  her 
only  child  cared  to  attend  that  stuffy  little  country  church 
and  hear  that  prosy  Kendall  minister  drone  on  and  on.  "  I 
hope,  my  dear,  that  I  am  as  punctilious  in  my  religious 
duties  as  the  average  woman,  but  one  Kendall  sermon  was 
sufficient  for  me,  thank  you.  What  you  see  in  that  church 
to  please  you,  /  can't  guess." 

If  she  had  attended  as  often  as  Madeline  did  she  might 
have  guessed  and  saved  herself  much.  But  she  was  busy 
organizing,  in  connection  with  M.S.  Seabury  Calvin,  a  Lit 
erary  Society  among  the  summer  people  of  South  Harniss. 


THE  PORTYGEE  181 

The  Society  was  to  begin  work  with  the  discussion  of  the 
poetry  of  Rabindranath  Tagore.  Mrs.  Fosdick  said  she 
doted  on  Tagore;  Mrs.  Calvin  expressed  herself  as  being 
positively  insane  about  him.  A  warm  friendship  had  sprung 
up  between  the  two  ladies,  as  each  was  particularly  fond  of 
shining  as  a  literary  light  and  neither  under  any  circum 
stances  permitted  a  new  lion  to  roar  unheard  in  her  neigh 
borhood,  provided,  of  course,  that  the  said  roarings  had  been 
previously  endorsed  and  well  advertised  by  the  critics  and 
the  press. 

So  Mrs.  Fosdick  was  too  busy  to  accompany  Madeline  to 
church  on  Sunday  or  to  walk  on  Saturday,  and  the  young 
lady  was  left  to  wander  pretty  much  at  her  own  sweet  will. 
That  sweet  will  led  her  footsteps  to  trails  frequented  by  Al 
bert  Speranza  and  they  walked  and  talked  and  poetized 
together.  As  for  Mr.  Fletcher  Fosdick,  he  was  busy  at  his 
office  in  New  York  and  came  to  South  Harniss  only  for 
infrequent  week-ends. 

The  walks  and  talks  and  poetizings  were  innocent  enough. 
Neither  of  the  partners  in  poesy  had  the  least  idea  of  any 
thing  more  than  being  just  that.  They  liked  each  other, 
they  had  come  to  call  each  other  by  their  Christian  names, 
and  on  Albert's  bureau  Madeline's  photograph  now  stood 
openly  and  without  apology.  Albert  had  convinced  himself 
there  was  nothing  to  apologize  for.  She  was  his  friend, 
that  was  all.  He  liked  to  write  and  she  liked  to  help  him  — 
er  —  well,  just  as  Helen  used  to  when  she  was  at  home.  He 
did  not  think  of  Helen  quite  as  often  as  formerly,  nor  were 
his  letters  to  her  as  frequent  or  as  long. 

So  the  summer  passed  and  late  August  came,  the  last 
Saturday  afternoon  of  that  month.  Albert  and  Madeline 
were  together,  walking  together  along  the  beach  from  the 
knoll  where  they  had  met  so  often.  It  was  six  o'clock  and 
the  beach  was  deserted.  There  was  little  wind,  the  tiny 
waves  were  lapping  and  plashing  along  the  shore,  and  the 
rosy  light  of  the  sinking  sun  lay  warm  upon  the  water  and 
the  sand.  They  were  thinking  and  speaking  of  the  summer 
which  was  so  near  its  end. 


182  THE  PORTYGEE 

"It  has  been  a  wonderful  summer,  hasn't  it?"  said  Al 
bert 

"  Yes,  wonderful,"  agreed  Madeline. 

"  Yes,  I  —  I  —  by  George,  I  never  believed  a  summer 
could  be  so  wonderful." 

"  Nor  I." 

Silence.  Then  Albert,  looking  at  her,  saw  her  eyes  look 
ing  into  his  and  saw  in  them  — 

He  kissed  her. 

That  morning  Albert  Speranza  had  arisen  as  usual,  a 
casual,  careless,  perfectly  human  young  fellow.  He  went 
to  bed  that  night  a  superman,  an  archangel,  a  demi-god,  with 
his  head  in  the  clouds  and  the  earth  a  cloth  of  gold  beneath 
his  feet.  Life  was  a  pathway  through  Paradise  arched 
with  rainbows. 

He  and  Madeline  Fosdick  loved  each  other  madly,  de 
votedly.  They  were  engaged  to  be  married.  They  had 
plighted  troth.  They  were  to  be  each  other's,  and  no  one 
else's,  for  ever  —  and  ever  —  and  ever. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  remainder  of  that  summer  was  a  paradisical 
meandering  over  the  cloth  of  gold  beneath  the 
rainbows.  Albert  and  his  Madeline  met  often, 
very  often.  Few  poems  were  written  at  these  meetings. 
Why  trouble  to  put  penciled  lines  on  paper  when  the  entire 
universe  was  a  poem  especially  composed  for  your  benefit? 
The  lovers  sat  upon  the  knoll  amid  the  sand  dunes  and  gazed 
at  the  bay  and  talked  of  themselves  separately,  individu 
ally,  and.  more  especially,  collectively.  They  strolled 
through  the  same  woody  lanes  and  discussed  the  same  sat 
isfactory  subjects.  They  met  at  the  post  office  or  at  the 
drug  store  and  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes.  And,  what 
was  the  most  astonishing  thing  about  it  all,  their  secret  re 
mained  undiscovered.  Undiscovered,  that  is  to  say,  by 
those  by  whom  discovery  would  have  meant  calamity.  The 
gossips  among  the  townspeople  winked  and  chuckled  and 
cal'lated  Fletcher  Fosdick  had  better  look  out  or  his  girl 
would  be  took  into  the  firm  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  Issachar 
Price  uttered  sarcastic  and  sly  innuendoes.  Jane  Kelsey 
and  her  set  ragged  the  pair  occasionally.  But  even  these 
never  really  suspected  that  the  affair  was  serious.  And 
neither  Mrs.  Fletcher  Fosdick  nor  Captain  and  Mrs.  Zelotes 
Snow  gave  it  a  minute's  attention. 

It  was  serious  enough  with  the  principals,  however.  To 
them  it  was  the  only  serious  matter  in  the  world.  Not 
that  they  faced  or  discussed  the  future  with  earnest  and 
complete  attention.  Some  day  or  other  —  that  was  of  course 
the  mutually  accepted  idea  —  some  day  or  other  they  were 
to  marry.  In  the  meantime  here  was  the  blissful  present 
with  its  roses  and  rainbows  and  here,  for  each,  was  the 
other.  What  would  be  likely  to  happen  when  the  Fosdick 
parents  learned  of  the  engagement  of  their  only  child  to  the 

183 


184  THE  PORTYGEE 

assistant  bookkeeper  of  the  South  Harniss  lumber  and  hard 
ware  company  was  unpleasant  to  contemplate,  so  why  con 
template  it?  Upon  one  point  they  were  agreed  —  never, 
never,  never  would  they  give  each  other  up.  No  power  on 
earth  —  which  included  parents  and  grandparents  —  should 
or  could  separate  them. 

Albert's  conscience  troubled  him  slightly  at  first  when  he 
thought  of  Helen  Kendall.  It  had  been  in  reality  such  a 
short  time  —  although  of  course  it  seemed  ages  and  ages  — 
since  he  had  fancied  himself  in  love  with  her.  Only  the 
previous  fall  —  yes,  even  that  very  spring,  he  had  asked  her 
to  pledge  herself  to  him.  Fortunately  —  oh,  how  very  for 
tunately  !  —  she  had  refused,  and  he  had  been  left  free. 
Now  he  knew  that  his  fancied  love  for  her  had  been  merely 
a  passing  whim,  a  delusion  of  the  moment.  This  —  this 
which  he  was  now  experiencing  was  the  grand  passion  of 
his  life.  He  wrote  a  poem  with  the  title,  *'  The  Greater 
Love  "  —  and  sold  it,  too,  to  a  sensational  periodical  which 
circulated  largely  among  sentimental  shopgirls.  It  is  but 
truthful  to  state  that  the  editor  of  the  magazine  to  which 
he  first  submitted  it  sent  it  back  with  the  brief  note  — 
"  This  is  a  trifle  too  syrupy  for  our  use.  Fear  the  pages 
might  stick.  Why  not  send  us  another  war  verse  ?  "  Albert 
treated  the  note  and  the  editor  with  the  contempt  they  de 
served.  He  pitied  the  latter;  poor  soul,  doubtless  he  had 
never  known  the  greater  love. 

He  and  Madeline  had  agreed  that  they  would  tell  no  one 
—  no  one  at  all  —  of  their  betrothal.  It  should  be  their 
own  precious  secret  for  the  present.  So,  under  the  circum 
stances,  he  could  not  write  Helen  the  nev/s.  But  ought  he 
to  write  her  at  all  ?  That  question  bothered  him  not  a  little. 
He  no  longer  loved  her  —  in  fact,  he  was  now  certain  that 
he  never  had  loved  her  —  but  he  liked  her,  and  he  wanted 
her  to  keep  on  liking  him.  And  she  wrote  to  him  with  reg 
ularity.  What  ought  he  to  do  about  writing  her  ? 

He  debated  the  question  with  himself  and,  at  last,  and 
with  some  trepidation,  asked  Madeline's  opinion  of  his  duty 
in  the  matter.  Her  opinion  was  decisive  and  promptly  given. 


THE  PORTYGEE  185 

Of  course  he  must  not  write  Helen  again.  "  How  would 
you  like  it  if  I  corresponded  with  another  fellow  ? "  she 
asked.  Candor  forced  him  to  admit  that  he  should  not  like 
it  at  all.  "  But  I  want  to  behave  decently,"  he  said.  "  She 
is  merely  a  friend  of  mine  "  —  oh,  how  short  is  memory !  — 
"  but  we  have  been  friends  for  a  long  time  and  I  wouldn't 
want  to  hurt  her  feelings."  "  No,  instead  you  prefer  to 
hurt  mine."  "  Now,  dearest,  be  reasonable."  It  was  their 
nearest  approach  to  a  quarrel  and  was  a  very,  very  sad  af 
fair.  The  making-up  was  sweet,  of  course,  but  the  ques 
tion  of  further  correspondence  with  Helen  Kendall  remained 
just  where  it  was  at  the  beginning.  And,  meanwhile,  the 
correspondence  lapsed. 

September  came  far,  far  too  soon  —  came  and  ended. 
And  with  it  ended  also  the  stay  of  the  Fosdicks  in  South 
Harniss.  Albert  and  Madeline  said  good-by  at  their  ren 
dezvous  by  the  beach.  It  was  a  sad,  a  tearful,  but  a  very 
precious  farewell.  They  would  write  each  other  every 
day,  they  would  think  of  each  other  every  minute  of  every 
day,  they  would  live  through  the  winter  somehow  and  look 
forward  to  the  next  spring  and  their  next  meeting. 

"  You  will  write  —  oh,  ever  and  ever  so  many  poems, 
won't  you,  dear  ?  "  begged  Madeline.  "  You  know  how  I 
love  them.  And  whenever  I  see  one  of  your  poems  in  print 
I  shall  be  so  proud  of  you  —  of  my  poet." 

Albert  promised  to  write  ever  and  ever  so  many.  He  felt 
that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  writing  reams  of  poems 
—  inspired,  glorious  poems.  The  difficulty  would  be  in  re 
straining  himself  from  writing  too  many  of  them.  With 
Madeline  Fosdick  as  an  inspiration,  poetizing  became  as  nat 
ural  as  breathing. 

Then,  which  was  unusual  for  them,  they  spoke  of  the  fu 
ture,  the  dim,  vague,  but  so  happy  future,  when  Albert  was 
to  be  the  nation's  poet  laureate  and  Madeline,  as  Mrs.  Lau 
reate,  would  share  his  glory  and  wear,  so  to  speak,  his  sec 
ond-best  laurels.  The  disagreeable  problems  connected  with 
the  future  they  ignored,  or  casually  dismissed  with,  *'  Never 
mind,  dear,  it  will  be  all  right  by  and  by."  Oh,  it  was  a 


186  THE  PORTYGEE 

wonderful  afternoon,  a  rosy,  cloudy,  happy,  sorrowful,  bit 
ter-sweet  afternoon. 

And  the  next  morning  Albert,  peeping  beneath  Z.  Snow 
and  Co.'s  office  window  shade,  saw  his  heart's  desire  step 
aboard  the  train,  saw  that  train  puff  out  of  the  station,  saw 
for  just  an  instant  a  small  hand  waved  behind  the  dingy 
glass  of  the  car  window.  His  own  hand  waved  in  reply. 
Then  the  raucous  voice  of  Mr.  Price  broke  the  silence. 

"  Who  was  you  flappin'  your  flipper  at  ?  "  inquired  Issa- 
char.  "  Girl,  I'll  bet  you !  Never  saw  such  a  critter  as  you 
be  to  chase  after  the  girls.  Which  one  is  it  this  time  ?  " 

Albert  made  no  reply.  Between  embarrassment  and  sor 
row  he  was  incapable  of  speech.  Issachar,  however,  was 
not  in  that  condition;  at  all  times  when  awake,  and  some 
times  when  asleep,  Mr.  Price  could,  and  usually  did,  speak. 

*'  Which  one  is  it  this  time,  Al  ?  "  demanded  Issy.  "  Eh  ? 
Crimus,  see  him  get  red!  Haw,  haw!  Labe,"  to  Mr. 
Keeler,  who  came  into  the  office  from  the  inner  room, 
"  which  girl  do  you  cal'late  Al  here  is  wavin'  by-bye  to  this 
mornin'?  Who's  goin'  away  on  the  cars  this  mornin', 
Labe?" 

Laban,  his  hands  full  of  the  morning  mail,  absently  re 
plied  that  he  didn't  know. 

"  Yes,  you  do,  too,"  persisted  Issy.  "  You  ain't  listening 
that's  all.  Who's  leavin'  town  on  the  train  just  now?  " 

"Eh?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  The  Small  folks  are  goin'  to 
Boston,  I  believe.  And  George  Bartlett's  goin'  to  Ostable  on 
court  business,  he  told  me.  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  Cap'n  Lote 
said  that  Fosdick  woman  and  her  daughter  were  goin'  back 
to  New  York.  Back  to  New  York  —  yes  —  yes  —  yes." 

Mr.  Price  crowed  triumphantly.  "  Ah,  ha !  "  he  crowed. 
"  Ah,  ha !  That's  the  answer.  That's  the  one  he's  shakin' 
day-days  to,  that  Fosdick  girl.  I've  seen  you  'round  with 
her  at  the  post  office  and  the  ice  cream  s'loon.  I'm  onto  you, 
Al.  Haw,  haw!  What's  her  name?  Adeline?  Dande 
lion  ?  Madeline  ?  —  that's  it !  Say,  how  do  you  think  Helen 
Kendall's  goin'  to  like  your  throwin'  kisses  to  the  Madeline 
one,  eh?" 


THE  PORTYGEE  187 

The  assistant  bookkeeper  was  still  silent.  The  crimson, 
however,  was  leaving  his  face  and  the  said  face  was  paling 
rapidly.  This  was  an  ominous  sign  had  Mr.  Price  but 
known  it.  He  did  not  know  it  and  cackled  merrily  on, 

'*  Guess  I'll  have  to  tell  Helen  when  she  comes  back 
home,"  he  announced.  "  CaPlate  I'll  put  a  flea  in  her  ear. 
*  Helen/  I'll  say,  *  don't  feel  too  bad  now,  don't  cry  and  get 
your  handkerchief  all  soakin',  or  nothin'  like  that.  I  just 
feel  it's  my  duty  to  tell  ye  that  your  little  Albert  is  sparkin' 
up  to  somebody  else.  He's  waitin'  on  a  party  by  the  name 
of  Padeline  —  no,  Madeline  —  Woodtick  —  no,  Fosdick  — 
and  .  .  .  Here !  let  go  of  me !  What  are  you  doin'  ?  " 

That  last  question  was  in  the  nature  of  a  gurgle.  Albert, 
his  face  now  very  white  indeed,  had  strode  across  the  office, 
seized  the  speaker  by  the  front  of  his  flannel  shirt  and  backed 
him  against  the  wall. 

"  Stop,"  commanded  Albert,  between  his  teeth.  "  That's 
enough  of  that.  Don't  you  say  any  more !  " 

"  Eh  ?     Ugh !     Ur-gg !     Leggo  of  my  shirt." 

Albert  let  go,  but  he  did  not  step  back.  He  remained 
where  he  was,  exactly  in  front  of  Mr.  Price. 

"  Don't  you  say  any  more  about  —  about  what  you  were 
saying,"  he  repeated. 

**  Eh  ?  Not  say  any  more  ?  Why  not  ?  Who's  goin'  to 
stop  me,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

*'  I  am." 

"  I  want  to  know !     What'll  you  do?  " 

"I  don't  know.  If  you  weren't  so  old,  I  would  —  but 
I'll  stop  you,  anyhow." 

Albert  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  heard  Mr.  Keeler's 
voice  at  his  ear. 

"  Careful,  Al,  careful,"  it  said.     "  Don't  hit  him." 

"  Of  course  I  shan't  hit  him,"  indignantly.  "  What  do 
you  think  I  am  ?  But  he  must  promise  not  to  mention  —  er 
—  Miss  Fosdick's  name  again." 

"  Better  promise,  Is,"  suggested  Laban.  Issachar's  mouth 
opened,  but  no  promise  came  forth. 

"  Promise  be  darned !  "  he  yelled  furiously.     "  Mention 


1 88  THE  PORTYGEE 

her  name !  I'll  mention  any  name  I  set  out  to,  and  no  Ital- 
yun  Portygee  is  goin'*  to  stop  me,  neither." 

Albert  glanced  about  the  office.  By  the  wall  stood  two 
brimming  pails  of  water,  brought  in  by  Mr.  Price  for  floor- 
washing  purposes.  He  lifted  one  of  the  pails. 

''If  you  don't  promise  I'll  duck  you,"  he  declared.  "  Let 
go  of  me,  Keeler,  I  mean  it." 

*'  Careful,  Al,  careful,"  said  Mr.  Keeler.  "  Better  prom 
ise,  Is." 

"  Promise  nawthin' !  Fosdick !  What  in  time  do  I  care 
for  Fosdicks,  Madelines  or  Padelines  or  Dandelions  or  — " 

His  sentence  stopped  just  there.  The  remainder  of  it 
was  washed  back  and  down  his  throat  by  the  deluge  from 
the  bucket.  Overcome  by  shock  and  surprise,  Mr.  Price 
leaned  back  against  the  wall  and  slid  slowly  down  that  wall 
until  he  reclined  in  a  sitting  posture,  upon  the  floor. 

"  Crimuslee,"  he  gasped,  as  soon  as  he  could  articulate, 
"  I'm  —  awk  —  I'm  drownded." 

Albert  put  down  the  empty  bucket  and  picked  up  the  full 
one. 

"  Promise,"  he  said  again. 

Laban  Keeler  rubbed  his  chin. 

"  I'd  promise  if  I  was  you,  Is/'  he  said.  "  You're  some 
subject  to  rheumatism,  you  know." 

Issachar,  sitting  in  a  spreading  puddle,  looked  damply  up 
ward  at  the  remaining  bucket.  "  By  crimustee  —  "  he  began. 
Albert  drew  the  bucket  backward;  the  water  dripped  from 
its  lower  brim. 

"I  —  I  —  darn  ye,  I  promise !  "  shouted  Issachar.  Albert 
put  down  the  bucket  and  walked  back  to  his  desk.  Laban 
watched  him  curiously,  smiling  just  a  little.  Then  he  turned 
to  Mr.  Price,  who  was  scr?mbling  to  his  feet. 

"  Better  get  your  mop  and  swab  up  here,  Is,"  lie  said. 
"  Cap'n  Lote'll  be  in  'most  any  minute." 

When  Captain  Zelotes  did  return  to  the  office,  Issachar 
was  industriously  sweeping  out,  Albert  was  hard  at  work  at 
the  books,  and  Laban  was  still  rubbing  his  chin  and  smiling 
at  nothing  in  particular. 


THE  PORTYGEE  189 

The  next  day  Albert  and  Issachar  made  it  up.  Albert 
apologized. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Issy,"  hj  said.  "  I  shouldn't  have  done  it, 
but  you  made  me  mad.  I  have  a  —  rather  mean  temper,  I'm 
afraid.  Forgive  me,  will  you  ?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Issachar,  after  a  momentary 
hesitation,  took  it. 

"  I  forgive  you  this  time,  Al,"  he  said  solemnly,  4t  but 
don't  never  do  nothin'  like  it  again,  will  ye  ?  When  I  went 
home  for  dinner  yesterday  noon  I  give  you  my  word  my 
clothes  was  kind  of  dampish  even  then.  If  it  hadn't  been 
nice  warm  sunshine  and  I  was  out  doors  and  dried  off  con 
siderable  I'd  a  had  to  change  everything,  underclothes  and 
all,  and  'tain't  but  the  middle  of  the  week  yet." 

His  ducking  had  an  effect  which  Albert  noticed  with  con 
siderable  satisfaction  —  he  was  never  quite  as  flippantly 
personal  in  his  comments  concerning  the  assistant  book 
keeper.  He  treated  the  latter,  if  not  with  respect,  at  least 
with  something  distantly  akin  to  it. 

After  Madeline's  departure  the  world  was  very  lonely  in 
deed.  Albert  wrote  long,  long  letters  and  received  replies 
which  varied  in  length  but  never  in  devotion.  Miss  Fosdick 
was  obliged  to  be  cautious  in  her  correspondence  with  her 
lover.  u  You  will  forgive  me  if  this  is  not  rruch  more  than 
a  note,  won't  you,  dear?"  she  wrote.  "Mother  seems  to 
be  very  curious  of  late  about  my  letters  and  to  whom  I  write 
and  I  had  to  just  steal  the  opportunity  this  morning."  An 
older  and  more  apprehensive  person  might  have  found  Mrs. 
Fosdick's  sudden  interest  in  her  daughter's  correspondence 
suspicious  and  a  trifle  alarming,  but  Albert  never  dreamed  of 
being  alarmed. 

He  wrote  many  poems,  all  dealing  with  love  and  lovers, 
and  sold  some  of  them.  He  wrote  no  more  letters  to  Helen. 
She,  too,  had  ceased  to  write  him,  doubtless  because  of  the 
lack  of  reply  to  her  last  two  or  three  letters.  His  conscience 
still  troubled  him  about  Helen;  he  could  not  help  feeling 
that  his  treatment  of  her  had  not  been  exactly  honorable. 
Yet  what  else  under  the  circumstances  could  he  do  ?  From 


190  THE  PORTYGEE 

Mr.  Kendall  he  learned  that  she  was  coming  home  to  spend 
Thanksgiving.  He  would  see  her  then.  She  would  ask  him 
questions?  What  should  his  ans\ver  De?  He  faced  the 
situation  in  anticipation  many,  many  times,  usually  after  he 
had  gone  to  bed  at  night,  and  lay  awake  through  long  tor 
turing  hours  in  consequence. 

But  when  at  last  Helen  and  he  did  meet,  the  day  before 
Thanksgiving,  their  meeting  was  not  at  all  the  dreadful  or 
deal  he  had  feared.  Her  greeting  was  as  frank  and  cordial 
as  it  had  always  been,  and  there  was  no  reproach  in  her  tone 
or  manner.  She  did  not  even  ask  him  why  he  had  stopped 
writing.  It  was  he,  himself,  who  referred  to  that  subject, 
and  he  did  so  as  they  walked  together  down  the  main  road. 
Just  why  he  referred  to  it  he  could  not  probably  have  told. 
He  was  aware  only  that  he  felt  mean  and  contemptible  and 
that  he  must  offer  some  explanation.  His  not  having  any  to 
offer  made  the  task  rather  difficult. 

But  she  saved  him  the  trouble.  She  interrupted  one  of 
his  blundering,  stumbling  sentences  in  the  middle. 

"  Never  mind,  Albert,"  she  said  quietly.  u  You  needn't 
explain.  I  think  I  understand." 

He  stopped  and  stared  at  her.  "  You  understand  ?  "  he 
repeated.  '*  Why  —  why,  no,  you  don't.  You  can't." 

"  Yes,  I  can,  or  I  think  I  can.  You  have  changed  your 
mind,  that  is  all." 

"  Changed  my  mind?  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  you  remember  I  told  you  you  would  change 
your  mind  about  —  well,  about  me  ?  You  were  so  sure  you 
cared  so  very,  very  much  for  me,  you  know.  And  I  said 
you  mustn't  promise  anything  because  I  thought  you  would 
change  your  mind.  And  you  have.  That  is  it,  isn't  it  ? 
You  have  found  some  one  else." 

He  gazed  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  witch  who  had  performed 
a  miracle. 

"  Why  —  why  -  -  well,  by  George  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Helen  —  how  —  how  did  you  know  ?  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  No  one  told  me.  But  I  think  I  can  even  guess  who  it 
is  you  have  found.  It  is  Madeline  Fosdick,  isn't  it?" 


THE  PORTYGEE  191 

His  amazement  now  was  so  open-mouthed  as  well  as 
open-eyed  that  she  could  not  help  smiling. 

*'  Don't !  Don't  stare  at  me  like  that,"  she  whispered. 
"  Every  one  is  looking  at  you.  There  is  old  Captain  Pease 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street ;  I'm  sure  he  thinks  you  have 
had  a  stroke  or  something.  Here !  Walk  down  our  road  a 
little  way  toward  home  with  me.  We  can  talk  as  we  walk. 
I'm  sure,"  she  added,  with  just  the  least  bit  of  change  in 
her  tone,  "  that  your  Madeline  won't  object  to  our  being 
together  to  that  extent." 

She  led  the  way  down  the  side  street  toward  the  parsonage 
and  he  followed  her.  He  was  still  speechless  from  surprise. 

'*  Well,"  she  went  on,  after  a  moment,  "  aren't  you  going 
to  say  anything  ?  " 

"  But  —  but,  Helen,"  he  faltered,  "  how  did  you  know  ?  " 

She  smiled  again.  '*  Then  it  is  Madeline,"  she  said.  "  I 
thought  it  must  be." 

*'  You  —  you  thought  —    What  made  you  think  so?  " 

For  an  instant  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  losing  her 
patience. 

Then  she  turned  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  Al,"  she  said,  u  please  don't  think  I  am  altogether 
an  idiot.  I  surmised  when  your  letters  began  to  grow 
shorter  and  —  well,  different  —  that  there  was  something  or 
some  one  who  was  changing  them,  and  I  suspected  it  was 
some  one.  When  you  stopped  writing  altogether,  I  knew 
there  must  be.  Then  father  wrote  in  his  letters  about  you 
and  about  meeting  you,  and  so  often  Madeline  Fosdick  was 
wherever  he  met  you.  So  I  guessed  —  and,  you  see,  I 
guessed  right." 

He  seized  her  hand. 

'*  Oh,  Helen,"  he  cried,  *'  if  you  only  knew  how  mean  I 
have  felt  and  how  ashamed  I  am  of  the  way  I  have  treated 
you !  But,  you  see,  I  —  I  couldn't  write  you  and  tell  you 
because  we  had  agreed  to  keep  it  a  secret.  I  couldn't  tell 
any  one." 

"  Oh,  it  is  as  serious  as  that !  Are  you  two  really  and 
truly  engaged  ?  " 


192  THE  PORTYGEE 

*'  Yes.  There  1  I've  told  it,  and  I  swore  I  would  never 
tell." 

"  No,  no,  you  didn't  tell.  I  guessed.  Now  tell  me  all 
about  her.  She  is  very  lovely.  Is  she  as  sweet  as  she 
looks?" 

He  rhapsodized  for  five  minutes.  Then  all  at  once  he 
realized  what  he  was  saying  and  to  whom  he  was  saying  it. 
He  stopped,  stammering,  in  the  very  middle  of  a  glowing 
eulogium. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Helen  reassuringly.  But  he  could  not  go 
on,  under  the  circumstances.  Instead  he  turned  very  red. 
As  usual,  she  divined  his  thought,  noticed  his  confusion, 
and  took  pity  on  it. 

"  She  must  be  awfully  nice,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  wonder 
you  fell  in  love  with  her.  I  wish  I  might  know  her  bet 
ter." 

"  I  wish  you  might.  By  and  by  you  must.  And  she  must 
know  vou.  Helen,  I  —  I  feel  so  ashamed  of  —  of — 

"  Hush,  or  I  shall  begin  to  think  you  are  ashamed  because 
you  liked  me  —  or  thought  you  did." 

"  But  I  do  like  you.  Next  to  Madeline  there  is  no  one  I 
like  so  much.  But,  but,  you  see,  it  is  different." 

"  Of  course  it  is.     And  it  ought  to  be.     Does  her  mother 

—  do  her  people  know  of  the  engagement?  " 

He  hesitated  momentarily.  "  No-o,"  he  admitted,  "  they 
don't  yet.  She  and  I  have  decided  to  keep  it  a  secret  from 
any  one  for  the  present.  I  want  to  get  on  a  little  further 
with  my  writing,  you  know.  She  is  like  you  in  that,  Helen 

—  she's  awfully  fond  of  poetry  and  literature." 

"  Especially  yours,  I'm  sure.  Tell  me  about  your  writing. 
How  are  you  getting  on  ?  " 

Sc  he  told  her  and,  until  they  stood  together  at  the  par 
sonage  gate,  Madeline's  name  was  not  again  mentioned. 
Then  Helen  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Good  morning,  Albert,"  she  said.  "  I'm  glad  we  have 
had  this  talk,  ever  so  glad." 

"  By  George,  so  am  I !  You're  a  corking  friend,  Helen. 
The  chap  who  does  marry  you  will  be  awfully  lucky." 


THE  PORTYGEE  193 

She  smiled  slightly.  "  Perhaps  there  won't  be  any  such 
chap,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  always  be  a  schoolmarm,  I  im 
agine." 

'*  Indeed  you  won't,"  indignantly.  "  I  have  too  high  an 
opinion  of  men  for  that." 

She  smiled  again,  seemed  about  to  speak,  and  then  to 
change  her  mind.  An  instant  later  she  said, 

"  I  must  go  in  now.  But  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  again 
before  I  go  back  to  the  city.  And,  after  your  secret  is  out 
and  the  engagement  is  announced,  I  want  to  write  Madeline, 
may  I?" 

"Of  course  you  may.  And  she'll  like  you  as  much  as  I 
do." 

"Will  she?  ...  Well,  perhaps ;  we'll  hope  so." 

"  Certainly  she  will.  And  you  won't  let  my  treating  you 
as  —  as  I  have  make  any  difference  in  our  friendship  ?  " 

*'  No.     We  shall  always  be  friends,  I  hope.     Good-by." 

She  went  into  the  hous^.  He  waited  a  moment,  hoping 
she  might  turn  again  before  entering,  but  she  did  not.  He 
walked  home,  pondering  deeply,  his  thoughts  a  curious 
jumble  of  relief  and  dissatisfaction.  He  was  glad  Helen 
had  seen  her  duty  and  given  him  over  to  Madeline,  but  he 
felt  a  trifle  piqued  to  think  she  had  done  it  with  such  appar 
ent  willingness.  If  she  had  wept  or  scolded  it  would  have 
been  unpleasant  but  much  more  gratifying  to  his  self-im 
portance. 

He  could  not  help  realizing,  however,  that  her  attitude 
toward  him  was  exceptionally  fine.  He  knew  well  that  he, 
if  in  her  place,  would  not  have  behaved  as  she  had  done. 
No  spite,  no  sarcasm,  no  taunts,  no  unpleasant  reminders  of 
things  said  only  a  few  months  before.  And  with  all  her  for 
giveness  and  forbearance  and  understanding  there  had  been 
always  that  sense  of  greater  age  and  wisdom;  she  had 
treated  him  as  she  might  have  treated  a  boy,  younger 
brother,  perhaps. 

"  She  is  older  than  I  am,"  he  thought,  '*  even  if  she  really 
isn't.  It's  funny,  but  it's  a  fact." 

December  came  and  Christmas,  and  then  January  and 


194  THE  PORTYGEE 

the  new  year,  the  year  1917.  In  January,  Z.  Snow  and  Co. 
took  its  yearly  account  of  stock,  and  Captain  Lote  and 
Laban  and  Albert  and  Issachar  were  truly  busy  during  the 
days  of  stock-taking  week  and  tired  when  evening  came. 
Laban  worked  the  hardest  of  the  quartette,  but  Issy  made 
the  most  fuss  about  it.  Labe,  who  had  chosen  the  holiday 
season  to  go  on  one  of  his  periodical  vacations,  was  rather 
white  and  shaky  and  even  more  silent  than  usual.  Mr. 
Price,  however,  talked  with  his  customary  fluency  and  con 
tinuity,  so  there  was  no  lack  of  conversation.  Captain  Ze- 
lotes  was  moved  to  comment. 

"  Issy,"  he  suggested  gravely,  looking  up  from  a  long 
column  of  figures,  "  did  you  ever  play  '  Door '  ?  " 
Issachar  stared  at  him. 

"  Play  '  Door'  ?  "  he  repeated.     *'  What's  that  ?  " 
"  It's  a  game.     Didn't  you  ever  play  it  ?  " 
"  No,  don't  know's  I  ever  did." 

"  Then  you'd  better  begin  right  this  minute.  The  first 
thing  to  do  is  to  shut  up  and  the  next  is  to  stay  that  way. 
You  play  '  Door '  until  I  tell  you  to  do  somethin'  else ;  d'you 
hear?" 

At  home  the  week  between  Christmas  and  the  New  Year 
was  rather  dismal.  Mr.  Keeler's  holiday  vacation  had 
brought  on  one  of  his  fiancee's  4t  sympathetic  attacks,"  and 
she  tied  up  her  head  and  hung  crape  upon  her  soul,  as  usual. 
During  these  attacks  the  Snow  household  walked  on  tiptoe, 
as  if  the  housekeeper  were  an  invalid  in  reality.  Even  con 
soling  speeches  from  Albert,  who  with  Laban  when  the  lat 
ter  was  sober,  enjoyed  in  her  mind  the  distinction  of  being 
the  reincarnation  of  "  Robert  Penfold,"  brought  no  relief 
to  the  suffering  Rachel.  Nothing  but  the  news  brought  by 
the  milkman,  that  "  Labe  was  taperin'  off,"  and  would  prob 
ably  return  to  his  desk  in  a  few  days,  eased  her  pain. 

One  forenoon  about  the  middle  of  the  month  Captain  Ze- 
lotes  himself  stopped  in  at  the  post  office  for  the  morning 
mail.  When  he  returned  to  the  lumber  company's  build 
ing  he  entered  quietly  and  walked  to  his  own  desk  with  a 
preoccupied  air.  For  the  half  hour  before  dinner  time  he 


THE  PORTYGEE  195 

sat  there,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  speaking  to  no  one  unless 
spoken  to.  The  office  force  noticed  his  preoccupation  and 
commented  upon  it. 

"  What  ails  the  old  man,  Al  ?  "  whispered  Issachar,  peer 
ing  in  around  the  corner  of  the  door  at  the  silent  figure 
tilted  back  in  the  revolving  chair,  its  feet  upon  the  corner  of 
the  desk.  "  Ain't  said  so  much  as  *  Boo '  for  up'ards  of 
twenty  minutes,  has  he?  I  was  in  there  just  now  fillin'  up 
his  ink-stand  and,  by  crimus,  I  let  a  great  big  gob  of  ink 
come  down  ker-souse  right  in  the  middle  of  the  nice,  clean 
blottin'  paper  in  front  of  him.  I  held  my  breath,  cal'latin' 
to  catch  what  Stephen  Peter  used  to  say  he  caught  when  he 
went  fishin'  Sundays.  Stevey  said  he  generally  caught  cold 
when  he  went  and  always  caught  the  Old  Harry  when  he 
got  back.  I  cal'lated  to  catch  the  Old  Harry  part  sure, 
'cause  Captain  Lote  is  always  neat  and  fussy  'bout  his  desk. 
But  no,  the  old  man  never  said  a  word.  I  don't  believe  he 
knew  the  ink  was  spilled  at  all.  What's  on  his  mind,  Al ; 
do  you  know  ?  " 

Albert  did  not  know,  so  he  asked  Laban.  Laban  shook 
his  head. 

"  Give  it  up,  Al,"  he  whispered.  '*  Somethin's  happened 
to  bother  him,  that's  sartin'.  Wrhen  Cap'n  Lote  gets  his  feet 
propped  up  and  his  head  tilted  back  that  way  I  can  'most 
generally  cal'late  he's  doin'  some  real  thinkin'.  Real  thinkin' 
—  yes,  sir-ee  —  um-hm  —  yes  —  yes.  When  he  h'ists  his 
boots  up  to  the  masthead  that  way  it's  safe  to  figger  his 
brains  have  got  steam  up.  Um-hm  —  yes  indeed." 

*'  But  what  is  he  thinking  about  ?  And  why  is  he  so 
quiet?" 

"  I  give  up  both  riddles,  Al.  He's  the  only  one's  got 
the  answers  and  when  he  gets  ready  enough  maybe  he'll 
tell  'em.  Until  then  it'll  pay  us  fo'mast  hands  to  make  be 
lieve  we're  busy,  even  if  we  ain't.  Hear  that,  do  you,  Is  ?  " 

*'  Hear  what  ?  "  demanded  Issachar,  who  was  gazing  out 
of  the  window,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  say  it  will  pay  us  —  you  and  Al  and  me  —  to  make  be 
lieve  we're  workin'  even  if  we  ain't." 


196  THE  PORTYGEE 

'*  Workin' !  "  indignantly.  "  By  crimus,  I  am  workin' !  I 
don't  have  to  make  believe." 

"That  so?  Well,  then,  I'd  pick  up  that  coal-hod  and 
make  believe  play  for  a  spell.  The  fire's  'most  out.  Almost 
—  um-hm  —  pretty  nigh  —  yes  —  yes." 

Albert  and  his  grandfather  walked  home  to  dinner  to 
gether,  as  was  their  custom,  but  still  the  captain  remained 
silent.  During  dinner  he  spoke  not  more  than  a  dozen  words 
and  Albert  several  times  caught  Mrs.  Snow  regarding  her 
husband  intently  and  with  a  rather  anxious  look.  She  did 
not  question  him,  however,  but  Rachel  was  not  so  reticent. 

'*  Mercy  on  us,  Cap'n  Lote,"  she  demanded,  "  what  is 
the  matter?  You're  as  dumb  as  a  mouthful  of  mush.  I 
don't  believe  you've  said  ay,  yes  or  no  since  we  sat  down  to 
table.  Are  you  sick  ?  " 

Her  employer's  calm  was  unruffled. 

"  No-o,"  he  answered,  with  deliberation. 

"  That's  a  comfort.  What's  the  matter,  then ;  don't  you 
want  to  talk?" 

"  No-o." 

"  Oh,"  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  "  well,  I'm  glad  I  know. 
I  was  beginnin'  to  be  afraid  you'd  forgotten  how." 

The  captain  helped  himself  to  another  fried  "  tinker " 
mackerel. 

*'  No  danger  of  that  around  here,  Rachel,"  he  said  se 
renely.  "  So  long  as  my  hearin's  good  I  couldn't  forget  — - 
not  in  this  house." 

Olive  detained  her  grandson  as  he  was  following  Captain 
Zelotes  from  the  dining  room. 

*'  What's  wrong  with  him,  Albert?  "  she  whispered.  "  Do 
you  know  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,  Grandmother.  Do  you  think  there  is  any 
thing  w  rong  ?  " 

"  I  know  there's  somethin'  troublin'  him.  I've  lived  with 
him  too  many  years  not  to  know  the  signs.  Oh,  Albert  — 
you  haven't  done  anything  to  displease  him,  have  you  ? " 

"No,  indeed,  Grandmother.  Whatever  it  is,  it  isn't 
that." 


THE  PORTYGEE  197 

When  they  reached  the  office,  the  captain  spoke  to  Mr. 
Keeler. 

'*  Had  your  dinner,  Labe  ?  "  he  asked. 

'*  Yes  —  yes,  indeed.  Don't  take  me  long  to  eat  —  not 
at  my  boardin'  house.  A  fellerd  have  to  have  paralysis  to 
make  eatin'  one  of  Lindy  Dadgett's  meals  take  more'n  a  half 
hour.  Um-hm  —  yes." 

Despite  his  preoccupation,  Captain  Zelotes  could  not  help 
smiling. 

'*  To  make  it  take  an  hour  he'd  have  to  be  ossified,  wouldn't 
he,  like  the  feller  in  the  circus  sideshow  ?  "  he  observed. 

Laban  nodded.  "  That  —  or  dead,"  he  replied.  "  Yes 
f — just  about  —  just  so,  Cap'n." 

"Where's  Issachar?" 

"  He's  eatin'  yet,  I  cal'late.     He  don't  board  at  Lindy's." 

*'  When  he  gets  back  set  him  to  pilin'  that  new  carload  of 
spruce  under  Number  Three  shed.  Keep  him  at  it." 

"  Yes,  sir.     Um-hm.     All  right," 

Captain  Zelotes  turned  to  his  grandson.  "  Come  in  here, 
Al,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  see  you  for  a  few  minutes." 

Albert  followed  him  into  the  inner  office.  He  wondered 
what  in  the  world  his  grandfather  wished  to  see  him  about, 
in  this  very  private  fashion. 

*'  Sit  down,  Al,"  said  the  captain,  taking  his  own  chair 
and  pointing  to  another.  "  Oh,  wait  a  minute,  though ! 
Maybe  you'd  better  -shut  that  hatch  first." 

The  "  hatch  "  was  the  transom  over  the  door  between  the 
offices.  Albert,  remembering  how  a  previous  interview  be 
tween  them  had  been  overheard  because  of  that  open  tran 
som,  glanced  at  his  grandfather.  The  twinkle  in  the  lat- 
ter's  eye  showed  that  he  too,  remembered.  Albert  closed 
the  "  hatch."  When  he  came  back  to  his  seat  the  twinkle 
had  disappeared;  Captain  Zelotes  looked  serious  enough. 

"  Well,  Grandfather?  "  queried  the  young  man,  after  wait 
ing  a  moment.  The  captain  adjusted  his  spectacles,  reached 
into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  and  produced  an  envelope. 
It  was  a  square  envelope  with  either  a  trade-mark  or  a  crest 
upon  the  b?ck.  Captain  Lote  did  not  open  the  envelope,  but 


198  THE  PORTYGEE 

instead  tapped  his  desk  with  it  and  regarded  his  grandson 
in  a  meditative  way. 

"  Al,"  he  said  slowly,  "  has  it  seemed  to  you  that  your 
cruise  aboard  this  craft  of  ours  here  had  been  a  little 
smoother  the  last  year  or  two  than  it  used  to  be  afore 
that?" 

Albert,  by  this  time  well  accustomed  to  his  grandfather's 
nautical  phraseology,  understood  that  the  "  cruise  "  referred 
to  was  his  voyage  as  assistant  bookkeeper  with  Z.  Snow  and 
Co.  He  nodded. 

"  I  have  tried  to  make  it  so,"  he  answered.  "  I  mean  I 
have  tried  to  make  it  smoother  for  you." 

"  Um-hm,  I  think  you  have  tried.  I  don't  mind  tellin' 
you  that  it  has  pleased  me  consid'ble  to  watch  you  try.  I 
don't  mean  by  that,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  curve  of  the 
lip,  *'  that  you'd  win  first  prize  as  a  lightnin'-calculator  even 
yet,  but  you're  a  whole  lot  better  one  than  you  used  to  be. 
I've  been  considerable  encouraged  about  you;  I  don't  mind 
tellin'  you  that  either.  .  .  .  And,"  he  added,  after  another 
interval  during  which  he  was,  apparently,  debating  just  how 
much  of  an  admission  it  was  safe  to  make,  "  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  this  poetry  foolishness  of  yours  hasn't  interfered  with 
your  work  any  to  speak  of." 

Albert  smiled.     "  Thanks,  Grandfather,"  he  said. 

4<  You're  welcome.  So  much  for  that.  But  there's  an 
other  side  to  our  relations  together,  yours  and  mine,  that  I 
haven't  spoken  of  to  you  afore.  And  I  have  kept  still  on 
purpose.  I've  figgered  that  so  long  as  you  kept  straight  and 
didn't  go  off  the  course,  didn't  drink  or  gamble,  or  go  wild 
or  the  like  of  that,  what  you  did  was  pretty  much  your  own 
business.  I've  noticed  you're  considerable  of  a  feller  with 
the  girls,  but  I  kept  an  eye  on  the  kind  of  girls  and  I  will 
say  that  so  far  as  I  can  see,  you've  picked  the  decent  kind. 
I  say  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Of  course  I  ain't  fool  enough  to 
believe  I  see  all  you  do,  or  know  all  you  do.  I've  been 
young  myself,  and  when  I  get  to  thinkin'  how  much  I  know 
about  you  I  try  to  set  down  and  remember  how  much  my 
dad  didn't  know  about  me  when  I  was  your  age.  That  —  er 


THE  PORTYGEE  199 

—  helps  some  toward  givin'  me  my  correct  position  on  the 
chart." 

He  paused.  Albert's  brain  was  vainly  striving  to  guess 
what  all  this  meant.  What  was  he  driving  at?  The  cap 
tain  crossed  his  legs  and  continued. 

"  I  did  think  for  a  spell,"  he  said,  '*  that  you  and  Helen 
Kendall  were  gettin'  to  understand  each  other  pretty  well. 
Well,  Helen's  a  good  girl  and  your  grandma  and  I  like  her. 
Course  we  didn't  cal'late  anything  very  serious  was  liable 
to  come  of  the  understanding  not  for  some  time,  anyhow,  for 
with  your  salary  and  —  well,  sort  of  unsettled  prospects,  I 
gave  you  credit  for  not  figgerin'  on  pickin'  a  wife  right 
away.  .  .  .  Haven't  got  much  laid  by  to  support  a  wife  on, 
have  you,  Al  ?  " 

Albert's  expression  had  changed  during  the  latter  portion 
of  the  speech.  Now  he  was  gazing  intently  at  his  grand 
father  and  at  the  letter  in  the  latter's  hands.  He  was  begin 
ning  to  guess,  to  dread,  to  be  fearful. 

"  Haven't  got  much  to  support  a  wife  on,  Al,  have  you  ?  " 
repeated  Captain  Zelotes. 

'*  No,  sir,  not  now." 

"  Um.  .  .  .  But  you  hope  to  have  by  and  by,  eh  ?  Well, 
I  hope  you  will.  But  until  you  have  it  would  seem  to  older 
folks  like  me  kind  of  risky  navigatin'  to  —  to  .  .  .  Oh,  there 
was  a  letter  in  the  mail  for  you  this  mornin,  Al." 

He  put  down  the  envelope  he  had  hitherto  held  in  his  hand 
and,  reaching  into  his  pocket,  produced  another.  Even  be 
fore  he  had  taken  it  from  his  grandfather's  hand  Albert 
recognized  the  handwriting.  It  was  from  Madeline. 

Captain  Zelotes,  regarding  him  keenly,  leaned  back  again 
in  his  chair.  4<  Read  it  if  you  want  to,  Al,"  he  said. 
"  Maybe  you'd  better.  I  can  wait." 

Albert  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  tore  open  the  en 
velope.  The  note  within  was  short,  evidently  written  in 
great  haste  and  agitation  and  was  spotted  with  tear  stains. 
He  read  it,  his  cheeks  paling  and  his  hand  shaking  as  he  did 
so.  Something  dreadful  had  happened.  Mother  —  Mrs. 
Fosdick,  of  course  —  had  discovered  everything.  She  had 


200  THE  PORTYGEE 

fcund  all  his  —  Albert's  —  letters  and  read  them.  She  was 
furious.  There  had  been  the  most  terrible  scene.  Made 
line  was  in  her  own  room  and  was  smuggling  him  this  letter 
by  Mary,  her  maid, 

who  will  do  anything  for  me,  and  has  promised  to  mail  it.  Oh, 
dearest,  they  say  I  must  give  you  up.  They  say—  Oh,  they 
say  dreadful  things  about  you !  Mother  declares  she  will  take 
me  to  Japan  or  some  f.ightful  place  and  keep  me  there  until 
I  forget  you.  I  don't  care  if  they  take  me  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  I  shall  never  forget  you.  I  will  never  —  never  —  never 
give  you  up.  And  you  mustn't  give  me  up,  will  you,  darling? 
They  say  I  must  never  write  you  again.  But  you  see  I  have  — 
and  I  shall.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?  I  was  so  happy  and  now 
I  am  so  miserable.  Write  me  the  minute  you  get  this,  but  oh, 
I  know  they  won't  let  me  see  your  letters  and  then  I  shall  die. 
But  write,  write  just  the  same,  every  day.  Oh  what  shall  we 
do? 

Yours,  always  and  always,  no  matter  what  everyone  does  or 
says,  lovingly  and  devotedly, 

MADELINE. 

When  the  reading  was  finished  Albert  sat  silently  staring 
at  the  floor,  seeing  it  through  a  wet  mist.  Captain  Zelotes 
watched  him,  his  heavy  brows  drawn  together  and  the  smoke 
wreaths  from  his  pipe  curling  slowly  upward  toward  the  of 
fice  ceiling.  At  length  he  said: 

"  Well,  Al,  I  had  a  letter,  too.  I  presume  likely  it  came 
from  the  same  port  even  if  not  from  the  same  member  of  the 
family.  It's  about  you,  and  I  think  you'd  better  read  it, 
maybe.  I'll  read  it  to  you,  if  you'd  rather." 

Albert  shook  his  head  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the  sec 
ond  letter.  His  grandfather  gave  it  to  him,  saying  as  he 
did  so :  4<  I'd  like  to  have  you  understand,  Al,  that  I  don't 
necessarily  believe  all  that  she  says  about  you  in  this  thing." 

"  Thanks,  Grandfather,"  mechanically. 

•'  All  right,  boy." 

The  second  letter  was,  as  he  had  surmised,  from  Mrs. 
Fosdick.  It  had  evidently  been  written  at  top  spe^  and  at 
a  mental  temperature  well  above  the  boiling  point.  Mrs. 


THE  PORTYGEE  201 

Fosdick  addressed  Captain  Zelotes  Snow  because  she  had 
been  given  to  understand  that  he  was  the  nearest  relative, 
or  guardian,  or  whatever  it  was,  of  the  person  concerning 
whom  the  letter  was  written  and  therefore,  it  was  presumed, 
might  be  expected  to  have  some  measure  of  control  over  that 
person's  actions.  The  person  was,  of  course,  one  Albert 
Speranza,  and  Mrs.  Fosdick  proceeded  to  set  forth  her  ver 
sion  of  his  conduct  in  sentences  which  might  almost  have 
blistered  the  paper.  Taking  advantage  of  her  trust  in  her 
daughter's  good  sense  and  ability  to  take  care  of  herself  — 
which  trust  it  appeared  had  been  in  a  measure  misplaced  — 
he,  the  Speranza  person,  had  sneakingly,  underhandedly 
and  in  a  despicably  clandestine  fashion  —  the  lady's  temper 
had  rather  gotten  away  from  her  here  —  succeeded  in  meet 
ing  her  daughter  in  various  places  and  by  various  disgrace 
ful  means  and  had  furthermore  succeeded  in  ensnaring  her 
youthful  affections,  et  cetera,  et  cetera. 

"  The  poor  child  actually  believes  herself  in  love  with  him," 
wrote  the  poor  child's  mother.  "  She  protests  ridiculously  that 
she  is  engaged  to  him  and  will  marry  him  in  spite  of  her  father 
or  myself  or  the  protests  of  sensible  people.  I  write  to  you, 
therefore,  assuming  you  likewise  to  be  a  sensible  person,  and  re 
questing  that  you  use  your  influence  with  the  —  to  put  the  most 
charitable  interpretation  of  his  conduct  —  misguided  and  foolish 
young  man  and  show  him  the  preposterous  folly  of  his  pre 
tended  engagement  to  my  daughter.  Of  course  the  whole  af 
fair,  correspondence  included,  must  cease  and  terminate  at 
once." 

And  so  on  for  two  more  pages.  The  color  had  returned 
to  Albert's  cheeks  long  before  he  finished  reading.  When 
he  had  finished  he  rose  to  his  feet  and,  throwing  the  letter 
upon  his  grandfather's  desk,  turned  away. 

"  Well,  Al  ?  "  queried  Captain  Zelotes. 

Albert's  face,  when  he  turned  back  to  answer,  was  whiter 
than  ever,  but  his  eyes  flashed  fire. 

'*  Do  you  believe  that?  "  he  demanded. 

"What?" 


202  THE  PORTYGEE 

*'  That  —  that  stuff  about  my  being  a  —  a  sneak  and  — 
and  ensnaring  her  —  and  all  the  rest  ?  Do  you  ?  " 

The  captain  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"  Steady,  son,  steady,"  he  said.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  be 
fore  you  begun  to  read  at  all  that  I  didn't  necessarily  be 
lieve  it  because  that  woman  wrote  it." 

"  You  —  you  or  no  one  else  had  better  believe  it.  It's  a 
lie." 

"  All  right,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  But  there's  a 
little  mite  of  truth  here  and  there  amongst  the  lies,  I  presume 
likely.  For  instance,  you  and  this  Fosdick  girl  have  been 
— er  —  keepin'  company  ?  " 

"  Her  name  is  Madeline  —  and  we  are  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried." 

"  Oh !  Hum  —  I  see  —  I  see.  And,  bein'  as  the  old 
la(ty  —  her  mother,  Mrs.  Fosdick,  I  mean  —  hasn't  suspected 
anything,  or,  at  any  rate,  hasn't  found  out  anything  until 
now,  yesterday,  or  whenever  it  was,  I  judge  you  have  been 
meetin'  —  er  —  Madeline  at  places  where  there  wasn't  — 
well,  too  large  a  crowd.  Eh  ?  " 

Albert  hesitated  and  was,  momentarily,  a  trifle  embar 
rassed.  But  he  recovered  at  once. 

"  I  met  her  first  at  the  drug  store  last  summer,"  he  said 
defiantly.  "  Then  I  met  her  after  that  at  the  post  office  and 
at  the  hotel  dance  last  fall,  and  so  on.  This  year  I  met  her 
—  well,  I  met  her  first  down  by  the  beach,  where  I  went  to 
write.  She  liked  poetry  and  — and  she  helped  me  with 
mine.  After  that  she  came  —  well,  she  came  to  help  me 
again.  And  after  that  — after  that-  " 

"  After  that  it  just  moved  along  kind  of  natural,  eh? 
Um-hm,  I  see." 

"  Look  here,  Grandfather,  I  want  you  to  understand  that 
she  is  —  is  —  by  George,  she  is  the  cleanest,  finest,  best  girl 
in  the  world.  Don't  you  get  the  idea  that  —  that  she  isn't. 
She  came  to  meet  me  just  because  she  was  interested  in  my 
verse  and  wanted  to  help.  It  wasn't  until  the  very  last  that 
we  —  that  we  found  out  we  cared  for  each  other." 

"  All  right,  boy,  all  right.     Go  on,  tell  me  the  whole  yarn, 


THE  PORTYGEE  203 

if  you  feel  like  it.  I  don't  want  to  pry  too  much  into  your 
affairs,  but,  after  all,  I  am  interested  in  those  affairs,  Al. 
Tell  me  as  much  as  you  can." 

<4  I'll  tell  you  the  whole.  There's  nothing  I  can't  tell, 
nothing  I'm  not  proud  to  tell.  By  George,  I  ought  to  be 
proud !  Why,  Grandfather,  she's  wonderful !  " 

"  Sartin,  son,  sartin.  They  always  are.  I  mean  she  is, 
of  course.  Heave  ahead." 

So  Albert  told  his  love  story.  When  he  had  finished  Cap 
tain  Zelote's  pipe  was  empty,  and  he  put  it  down. 

"  Albert,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  judge  you  mean  this  thing 
seriously.  You  mean  to  marry  her  some  day." 

'*  Yes,  indeed  I  do.  And  I  won't  give  her  up,  either.  Her 
mother  —  why,  what  right  has  her  mother  got  to  say  —  to 
treat  her  in  this  way?  Or  to  call  me  what  she  calls  me  in 
that  letter  ?  Why,  by  George  — " 

"  Easy,  son.  As  I  understand  it,  this  Madeline  of  yours 
is  the  only  child  the  Fosdicks  have  got  and  when  our  only 
child  is  in  danger  of  bein'  carried  off  by  somebody  else  — 
why,  well,  their  mothers  and  fathers  are  liable  to  be  just  a 
little  upset,  especially  if  it  comes  on  'em  sudden.  .  .  .  No 
body  knows  that  better  than  I  do,"  he  added  slowly. 

Albert  recognized  the  allusion,  but  he  was  not  in  the  mood 
to  be  affected  by  it.  He  was  not,  just  then,  ready  to  make 
allowances  for  any  one,  particularly  the  parental  Fosdicks. 

"  They  have  no  business  to  be  upset  —  not  like  that,  any 
how,"  he  declared.  "  What  does  that  woman  know  about 
me  ?  Wrhat  right  has  she  to  say  that  I  ensnared  Madeline's 
affection  and  all  that  rot  ?  Madeline  and  I  fell  in  love  with 
each  other,  just  as  other  people  have,  I  suppose." 

"  You  suppose  right,"  observed  Captain  Zelotes,  dryly. 
"  Other  people  have  —  a  good  many  of  'em  since  Adam's 
time." 

"  Well,  then !  And  what  right  has  she  to  give  orders  that 
I  stop  writing  or  seeing  Madeline, —  all  that  idiotic  stuff 
about  ceasing  and  terminating  at  once  ?  She  —  she  — "  His 
agitation  was  making  him  incoherent —  "  She  talks  like  Lord 
Somebody-or-other  in  an  old-fashioned  novel  or  play  or 


204  THE  PORTYGEE 

something.  Those  old  fools  were  always  rejecting  unde 
sirable  suitors  and  ordering  their  daughters  to  do  this  and 
that,  breaking  their  hearts,  and  so  on.  But  that  sort  of  thing 
doesn't  go  nowadays.  Young  people  have  their  own  ideas." 

"  Um-hm,  Al ;  so  I've  noticed." 

"  Yes,  indeed  they  have.  Now,  if  Madeline  wants  to 
marry  me  and  I  want  to  marry  her,  who  will  stop  us  ?  " 

The  captain  pulled  at  his  beard. 

"  Why,  nobody,  Al,  as  I  know  of,"  he  said ;  "  provided  you 
both  keep  on  wantin'  to  marry  each  other  long  enough." 

"  Keep  on  wanting  long  enough  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

*'  Why,  nothin'  much,  perhaps ,  only  gettin'  married  isn't 
all  just  goin'  to  the  parson.  After  the  ceremony  the  rent 
begins  and  the  grocers'  bills  and  the  butchers'  and  the  bak 
ers'  and  a  thousand  or  so  more.  Somebody's  got  to  pay 
'em,  and  the  money's  got  to  come  from  somewhere.  Your 
wages  here,  Al,  poetry  counted  in,  ain't  so  very  big  yet. 
Better  wait  a  spell  before  you  settle  down  to  married  life, 
hadn't  you?" 

"  Well  —  well,  I  —  I  didn't  say  we  were  to  be  married 
right  away,  Grandfather.  She  and  I  aren't  unreasonable. 
I'm  doing  better  and  better  with  my  writings.  Some  day 
I'll  make  enough,  and  more.  Why  not  ?  " 

There  was  enough  of  the  Speranza  egotism  in  this  confi 
dent  assurance  to  bring  the  twinkle  to  the  captain's  eye.  He 
twis-ted  his  beard  between  his  finger  and  thumb  and  re 
garded  his  grandson  mildly. 

'*  Have  you  any  idea  how  much  *  enough  '  is  liable  to  be, 
Al  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  I  don't  know  the  facts  about  'em,  of 
course,  but  from  what  I  have  heard  I  judge  the  Fosdicks 
have  got  plenty  of  cash.  I've  heard  it  estimated  around 
town  from  one  million  to  fifty  millions.  Allowin*  it's  only 
one  million,  it  seems  likely  that  your  —  er  —  what's-her- 
name  —  Madeline  has  been  used  to  havin'  as  much  as  fifty 
cents  to  spend  whenever  she  wanted  it.  Do  you  cal'late  to 
be  able  to  earn  enough  makin'  up  poetry  to  keep  her  the 
way  her  folks  have  been  doin'  ?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  205, 

"  No,  of  course  not  —  not  at  first." 

"  Oh,  but  later  on  —  when  the  market  price  of  poetry  has 
gone  up  —  you  can,  eh  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Grandfather,  if  you're  making  fun  of  me  I 
tell  you  I  won't  stand  it.  This  is  serious ;  I  mean  it.  Mad 
eline  and  I  are  going  to  be  married  some  time  and  no  one 
can  stop  us." 

**  All  right,  son,  all  right.  But  it  did  seem  to  me  that  in 
the  light  of  this  letter  from  —  er  —  your  mother-in-law 
that's  goin'  to  be,  we  ought  to  face  the  situation  moder 
ately  square,  anyhow.  First  comes  marriage.  Well,  that's 
easy;  any  fool  can  get  married,  lots  of  'em  do.  But  then, 
as  I  said,  comes  supportin'  yourself  and  wife  —  bills,  bills, 
and  more  bills.  You'll  say  that  you  and  she  will  economize 
and  fight  it  out  together.  Fine,  first-rate,  but  later  on  there 
may  be  more  of  you,  a  child,  children  perhaps  — " 

"Grandfather!" 

"  It's  possible,  son.  Such  things  do  happen,  and  they  cost 
money.  More  mouths  to  feed.  Now  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  you  aren't  marryin'  the  Fosdick  girl  for  her  money  — " 

The  interruption  was  prompt  and  made  with  fiery  indig 
nation. 

"  I  never  thought  of  her  money,"  declared  Albert.  "  I 
don't  even  know  that  she  has  any.  If  she  has,  I  don't  want 
it.  I  wouldn't  take  it.  She  is  all  I  want." 

Captain  Zelotes'  lip  twitched. 

"  Judgin'  from  the  tone  of  her  ma's  last  letter  to  me,"  he 
observed,  "  she  is  all  you  would  be  liable  to  get.  It  don't 
read  as  if  many  —  er  —  weddin'  presents  from  the  bride's 
folks  would  come  along  with  her.  But,  there,  there,  Al ! 
don't  get  mad.  I  know  this  is  a  long  ways  from  bein'  a  joke 
to  you  and,  in  a  way,  it's  no  joke  for  me.  Course  I  had  real 
ized  that  some  day  you'd  be  figgerin',  maybe,  on  gettin'  mar 
ried,  but  I  did  hope  the  figgerin'  wouldn't  begin  for  some 
years  yet.  And  when  you  did,  I  rather  hoped  —  well,  I  —  I 
hoped.  .  .  .  However,  we  won't  stop  to  bother  with  that 
now.  Let's  stick  to  this  letter  of  Mrs.  Fosdick's  here.  I 
must  answer  that,  I  suppose,  whether  I  want  to  or  not,  to- 


206  THE  PORTYGEE 

day.  Well,  Al,  you  tell  me,  I  understand  that  there  has 
been  nothin'  underhand  in  your  acquaintance  with  her 
daughter.  Other  than  keepin'  the  engagement  a  secret,  that 
is?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

'*  And  you  mean  to  stick  by  your  guns  and.  .  .  .  Well, 
what  is  it  ?  Come  in !  " 

There  had  been  a  knock  upon  the  office  door.  In  answer 
to  his  employer's  summons,  Mr.  Keeler  appeared.  He  held 
a  card  in  his  hand. 

'*  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  Cap'n  Lote,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I 
be,  yes,  sir.  But  I  judged  maybe  'twas  somethin'  impor 
tant  about  the  lumber  for  his  house  and  he  seemed  anxious  to 
see  you,  so  I  took  the  risk  and  knocked.  Um-hm  —  yes, 
yes,  yes." 

Captain  Zelotes  looked  at  the  card.  Then  he  adjusted  his 
spectacles  and  looked  again. 

"Humph!"  he  grunted.  "Humph!  .  .  .  We-ell,  Labe, 
I  guess  likely  you  might  show  him  in  here.  Wait  just  a 
minute  before  you  do  it,  though.  I'll  open  the  door  when  I 
want  him  to  come." 

"  All  right,  Cap'n  Lote.  Yes,  yes,"  observed  Mr.  Keeler 
and  departed.  The  captain  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  card. 

"  Al,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  we'll  have 
to  cut  this  talk  of  ours  short  for  a  little  spell.  You  go  back 
to  your  desk  and  wait  there  until  I  call  you.  Hold  on,"  as 
his  grandson  moved  toward  the  door  of  the  outer  office. 
"  Don't  go  that  way.  Go  out  through  the  side  door  into  the 
yard  and  come  in  the  front  way.  There's  —  er  —  there's  a 
man  waitin'  to  see  me,  and  —  er  —  perhaps  he'd  better  not 
see  you  first." 

Albert  stared  at  him  uncomprehendingly. 

"  Better  not  see  me?  "  he  repeated.  "  Why  shouldn't  he 
see  me  ?  " 

Captain  Zelotes  handed  the  card  to  Albert. 

"  Better  let  me  talk  with  him  first,  Al,"  he  said.  **  You 
can  have  your  chance  later  on." 

The  card  bore  the  name  of  Mr.  Fletcher  Story  Fosdick. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ALBERT  read  the  name  on  the  card.  He  was  too 
astonished  to  speak.  Her  father!  He  was  here! 
He- 

His  grandfather  spoke  again,  and  his  tone  was  brisk  and 
businesslike. 

"  Go  on,  Al,"  he  ordered.  "  Out  through  this  side  door 
and  around  to  the  front.  Lively,  son,  lively !  " 

But  the  young  man's  wits  were  returning.  He  scowled 
at  the  card. 

"  No,"  he  said  stoutly,  "  I'm  not  going  to  run  away.  I'm 
not  afraid  of  him.  I  haven't  done  anything  to  be  ashamed 
of." 

The  captain  nodded.  "If  you  had,  I  should  ask  you  to 
run  away,"  he  said.  "  As  it  is,  I  just  ask  you  to  step  out 
and  wait  a  little  while,  that's  all." 

"  But,  Grandfather,  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  All  right,  I  want  you  to  —  but  not  until  he  and  I  have 
talked  first.  Come,  boy,  come!  I've  lived  a  little  longer 
than  you  have,  and  maybe  I  know  about  half  as  much  about 
some  things.  This  is  one  of  'em.  You  clear  out  and  stand 
by.  I'll  call  you  when  I  want  you." 

Albert  went,  but  reluctantly.  After  he  had  gone  his  grand 
father  walked  to  the  door  of  the  outer  office  and  opened  it. 

*'  Step  aboard,  Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  said.     "  Come  in,  sir." 

Mr.  Fletcher  Fosdick  was  a  large  man,  portly,  and  with  a 
head  which  was  rapidly  losing  its  thatch.  His  smooth- 
shaven  face  was  ruddy  and  his  blue  eye  mild.  He  entered 
the  private  office  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  and  shook  the  hand 
which  Captain  Zelotes  proffered. 

<l  How  do  you  do,  Captain  Snow  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly. 
"  You  and  I  have  had  some  business  dealings,  but  we  have 
never  met  before,  I  believe." 

207 


208  THE  PORTYGEE 

The  captain  waved  toward  a  chair.  "  That's  a  fact,  Mr. 
Fosdick,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  believe  we  ever  have,  but  it's 
better  late  than  by  and  by,  as  the  feller  said.  Sit  down,  sit 
down,  Mr.  Fosdick.  Throw  off  your  coat,  won't  you  ?  It's 
sort  of  warm  in  here  compared  to  out  door." 

The  visitor  admitted  the  difference  in  temperature  be 
tween  the  interior  and  exterior  of  the  building,  and  removed 
his  overcoat.  Also  he  sat  down.  Captain  Zelotes  opened  a 
drawer  of  his  desk  and  produced  a  box  of  cigars. 

"  Have  a  smoke,  won't  you  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Fosdick  glanced  at  the  label  on  the  box. 

"  Why  —  why,  I  was  rather  hoping  you  would  smoke  one 
of  mine,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  pocket  full." 

"  When  I  come  callin'  on  you  at  your  place  in  New  York 
I  will  smoke  yours.  Now  it  kind  of  looks  to  me  as  if  you'd 
ought  to  smoke  mine.  Seems  reasonable  when  you  think  it 

0  /er,  don't  it  ?  " 

Fosdick  smiled.  "  Perhaps  you're  right,"  he  said.  He 
took  one  of  the  gaudily  banded  perfectos  from  his  host's  box 
and  accepted  a  light  from  the  match  the  captain  held.  Both 
men  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  through  those  clouds  each 
looked  at  the  other.  The  preliminaries  were  over,  but 
neither  seemed  particularly  anxious  to  begin  the  real  con 
versation.  It  was  the  visitor  who,  at  last,  began  it. 

"  Captain  Snow,"  he  said,  "  I  presume  your  clerk  told  you 

1  wished  to  see  you  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"  Who  ?     Oh,  Labe,  you  mean  ?    Yes,  he  told  me." 

"  I  told  him  to  tell  you  that.  It  may  surprise  you,  how 
ever,  to  learn  that  the  business  I  wished  to  see  you  about  — 
that  I  came  on  from  New  York  to  see  you  about  —  has  noth 
ing  whatever  to  do  with  the  house  I'm  building  down  here." 

Captain  Zelotes  removed  his  cigar  from  his  lips  and  looked 
meditatively  at  its  burning  end.  "  No-o,"  he  said  slowly, 
'*  that  don't  surprise  me  very  much.  I  cal'lated  'twasn't 
about  the  house  you  wished  to  see  me." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  ...  Humph !  "  The  Fosdick  mild  blue  eye 
lost,  for  the  moment,  just  a  trifle  of  its  mildness  and  became 
almost  keen,  as  its  owner  flashed  a  glance  at  the  big  figure 


THE  PORTYGEE  209 

seated  at  the  desk.  "  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Fosdick.  "  And  have 
you  —  er  —  guessed  what  I  did  come  to  see  you  about  ?  " 

"  No-o.     I  wouldn't  call  it  guessin',  exactly." 

"Wouldn't  you?     What  would  you  call  it?" 

"  We-11,  I  don't  know  but  I'd  risk  callin'  it  knowin'.  Yes, 
I  think  likely  I  would." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  .  .  .  Humph !  Have  you  had  a  letter  —  on 
the  subject?" 

"  Ye-es." 

44  I  see.  From  Mrs.  Fosdick,  of  course.  She  said  she 
was  going  to  write  —  I'm  not  sure  she  didn't  say  she  had 
written ;  but  I  had  the  impression  it  was  to  —  well,  to  another 
member  of  your  family,  Captain  Snow." 

"  No,  'twas  to  me.     Come  this  mornin's  mail." 

"  I  see.  My  mistake.  Well,  I'm  obliged  to  her  in  a  way. 
If  the  news  has  been  broken  to  you,  I  shan't  have  to  break  it 
and  we  can  get  down  to  brass  tacks  just  so  much  sooner. 
The  surprise  being  over  —  I  take  it,  it  was  a  surprise,  Cap 
tain?" 

"  You  take  it  right.  Just  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  me  as 
you." 

"  Of  course.  Well,  the  surprise  being  over  for  both  of 
us,  we  can  talk  of  the  affair  —  calmly  and  coolly.  What  do 
you  think  about  it,  Captain  ?  " 

'*  Oh,  I  don't  know  as  I  know  exactly  what,  to  think. 
What  do  you  think  about  it,  Mr.  Fosdick  ?  " 

"  I  think  —  I  imagine  I  think  very  much  as  you  do." 

44 1  shouldn't  be  surprised.  And  —  er  —  what's  your  no 
tion  of  what  I  think  ?  " 

Captain  Zelotes'  gray  eye  twinkled  as  he  asked  the  ques 
tion,  and  the  Fosdick  blue  eye  twinkled  in  return.  Both 
men  laughed. 

"  We  aren't  getting  very  far  this  way,  Captain,"  observed 
the  visitor.  "  There's  no  use  dodging,  I  suppose.  I,  for 
one,  am  not  very  well  pleased.  Mrs.  Fosdick,  for  another, 
isn't  pleased  at  all ;  she  is  absolutely  and  entirely  opposed  to 
the  whole  affair.  She  won't  hear  of  it,  that's  all,  and  she 
said  so  much  that  I  thought  perhaps  I  had  better  come  down 


2io  THE  PORTYGEE 

here  at  once,  see  you,  and  —  and  the  young  fellow  with  the 
queer  name — " 

"  My  grandson." 

"  Why  yes.  He  is  your  grandson,  isn't  he  ?  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

k<  That's  all  right.  I  shan't  fight  with  you  because  you 
don't  like  his  name.  Go  ahead.  You  decided  to  come  and 
see  him  —  and  me  —  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did.  I  decided  to  come  because  it  has  been  my 
experience  that  a  frank,  straight  talk  is  better,  in  cases  like 
this,  than  a  hundred  letters.  And  that  the  time  to  talk  was 
now,  before  matters  between  the  young  foo  —  the  young 
people  went  any  further.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

Captain  Zelotes  nodded. 

"  That  now  is  a  good  time  to  talk?    Yes,  I  do,"  he  said. 

"  Good !     Then  suppose  we  talk." 

"  All  right." 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence.  Then  Fosdick 
broke  it  with  a  chuckle.  "  And  I'm  the  one  to  do  the  talk 
ing,  eh  ?  "  he  said. 

Captain  Lote's  eye  twinkled.  "  We-11,  you  came  all  the 
way  from  New  York  on  purpose,  you  know,"  he  observed. 
Then  he  added :  "  But  there,  Mr.  Fosdick,  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  I  ain't  polite  or  won't  talk,  myself.  I'll  do  my 
share  when  the  time  comes.  But  it  does  seem  to  me  that 
you  ought  to  do  yours  first  as  it's  your  family  so  far  that's 
done  the  objectin'.  .  .  .  Your  cigar's  gone  out.  Have  an 
other  light,  won't  you  ?  " 

The  visitor  shook  his  head.  "  No,  thank  you,  not  now," 
he  said  hastily,  placing  the  defunct  cigar  carefully  on  the 
captain's  desk,  "  I  won't  smoke  for  the  minute.  So  you 
want  me  to  begin  the  talking,  do  you?  It  seems  to  me  I 
have  begun  it.  I  told  you  that  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  my 
daughter's  being  engaged  to  —  to  say  nothing  of  marrying  — 
your  grandson.  My  wife  likes  it  even  less  than  I  do.  That 
is  enough  of  a  statement  to  begin  with,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  not  exactly,  if  you'll  excuse  my  sayin'  so. 
Your  daughter  herself  —  how  does  she  feel  about  it?" 


THE  PORTYGEE  211 

"  Oh,  she  is  enthusiastic,  naturally.  She  appears  to  be 
suffering  from  temporary  insanity  on  the  subject." 

"  She  don't  seem  to  think  it's  quite  as  —  er  —  preposter 
ous,  and  ridiculous  and  outrageous  —  and  Lord  knows  what 
all  —  as  your  wife  does,  eh?  " 

"  No.  I  say,  Snow,  I  hope  you're  not  too  deeply  offended 
by  what  my  wife  wrote  you.  I  judge  you  are  quoting  from 
her  letter  and  apparently  she  piled  it  on  red-hot.  You'll 
have  to  excuse  her;  she  was  almost  wild  all  day  yesterday. 
I'll  ask  your  pardon  on  her  behalf." 

"  Sho,  sho !  No  need,  Mr.  Fosdick,  no  need  at  all.  I 
know  what  women  are,  even  the  easy-goin'  kind,  when 
they've  got  steam  up.  I've  got  a  wife  —  and  I  had  a  daugh 
ter.  But,  gettin'  back  on  the  course  again,  you  think  your 
daughter's  crazy  because  she  wants  to  marry  my  grandson. 
Is  that  it?" 

"  Why,  no,  I  wouldn't  say  that,  exactly.  Of  course,  I 
wouldn't  say  that." 

"  But,  you  see,  you  did  say  it.  However,  we'll  leave  that 
to  one  side  for  a  spell.  What  objection  —  what  real  ob 
jection  is  there  to  those  two  marryiu'  —  my  grandson  and 
your  daughter  —  provided  that  they  care  for  each  other  as 
they'd  ought  to  ?  " 

Mr.  Fosdick's  expression  changed  slightly.  His  tone,  as 
he  replied  to  the  question,  was  colder  and  his  manner  less 
cordial. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  worth  while  answering  that  in 
detail,"  he  said,  after  an  instant's  pause.  "  Frankly,  Cap 
tain  Snow,  I  had  rather  hoped  you  would  see,  for  yourself, 
the  reasons  why  'such  a  marriage  wouldn't  be  desirable.  If 
you  don't  see  them,  if  you  are  backing  up  your  grandson  in 
his  business,  why  —  well,  there  is  no  use  in  our  discussing  the 
matter  any  further,  is  there  ?  We  should  only  lose  our  tem 
pers  and  not  gain  much.  So  we  had  better  end  it  now,  I 
think." 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  Captain  Zelotes,  leaning  forward, 
held  up  a  protesting  hand. 

"  Now  —  now,  Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  I  don't 


212  THE  PORTYGEE 

want  you  to  misunderstand  me.  And  I'm  sorry  if  what  I 
said  has  made  you  mad." 

Fosdick  smiled.  "  Oh,  I'm  not  mad,"  he  answered  cheer 
fully.  "  I  make  it  a  rule  in  all  my  business  dealings  not  to 
get  mad,  or,  more  especially,  not  to  let  the  other  fellow  know 
that  I'm  getting  that  way.  My  temper  hasn't  a  ruffle  in  it 
just  now,  and  I  am  leaving  merely  because  I  want  it  to  re 
main  smooth.  I  judge  that  you  and  I  aren't  going  to  agree. 
All  right,  then  we'll  differ,  but  we'll  differ  without  a  fight, 
that's  all.  Good  afternoon,  Captain." 

But  Captain  Lote's  hand  still  remained  uplifted. 

"  Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  said,  '  just  a  minute  now  — just  a 
minute.  You  never  have  met  Albert,  my  grandson,  have 
you  ?  Never  even  seen  him,  maybe  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  intend  to  meet  him  and  talk  with  him  before  I 
leave  South  Harniss.  He  was  one  of  the  two  people  I  came 
here  to  meet." 

"  And  I  was  the  other,  eh  ?  Um-hm.  ...  I  see.  You 
think  you've  found  out  where  I  stand  and  now  you'll  size 
him  up.  Honest,  Mr.  Fosdick,  I  ...  Humph!  Mind  if 
I  tell  you  a  little  story?  'Twon't  take  long.  When  I  was 
a  little  shaver,  me  and  my  granddad,  the  fir^t  Cap'n  Lote 
Snow  —  there's  been  two  since  —  were  great  chums.  When 
he  was  home  from  sea  he  and  I  stuck  together  like  hot  pitch 
and  oakum.  One  day  we  were  sittin'  out  in  the  front  yard 
of  his  house  —  it's  mine,  now  —  watchin'  a  hoptoad  catch 
flies.  You've  seen  a  toad  catch  flies,  haven't  you,  Mr.  Fos 
dick?  Mr.  Toad  sits  there,  lookin'  half  asleep  and  as  pious 
and  demure  as  a  pickpocket  at  camp-meetin',  until  a  fly  comes 
along  and  gets  too  near.  Then,  Zip !  out  shoots  about  six 
inches  of  toad  tongue  and  that  fly's  been  asked  in  to  dinner. 
Well,  granddad  and  I  sat  lookin'  at  our  particular  toad 
when  along  came  a  bumble-bee  and  lighted  on  a  honeysuckle 
blossom  right  in  front  of  the  critter.  The  toad  didn't  take 
time  to  think  it  over,  all  he  saw  was  a  square  meal,  and  his 
tongue  flashed  out  and  nailed  that  bumble-bee  and  snapped 
it  into  the  pantry.  In  about  a  half  second,  though,  there 
was  a  change.  The  pantry  had  been  emptied,  the  bumble- 


THE  PORTYGEE  213 

bee  was  on  his  way  again,  and  Mr.  Toad  was  on  his,  hoppin* 
lively  and  huntin'  for  —  well,  for  ice  water  or  somethin* 
coolin',  I  guess  likely.'  Granddad  tapped  me  on  the  shoul 
der.  *  Sonny/  says  he,  '  there's  a  lesson  for  you.  That 
hoptoad  didn't  wait  to  make  sure  that  bumble-bee  was  good 
to  eat ;  he  took  it  for  granted,  and  was  sorry  afterward.  It 
don't  pay  to  jump  at  conclusions,  son/  he  says.  '  Some 
conclusions  are  like  that  bumble-bee's,  they  have  stings  in 
'em/  " 

Captain  Lote,  having  finished  his  story,  felt  in  his  pocket 
for  a  match.  Fosdick,  for  an  instant,  appeared  puzzled. 
Then  he  laughed. 

"  I  see/'  he  said.  "  You  think  I  made  too  quick  a  jump 
when  I  concluded  you  were  backing  your  grandson  in  this 
affair.  All  right,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  What  do  you  want 
me  to  do,  sit  down  again  and  listen  ?  " 

He  resumed  his  seat  as  he  asked  the  question.  Captain 
Zelotes  nodded. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  answered.  "  You  see,  you  mis 
understood  me,  Mr.  Fosdick.  I  didn't  mean  any  more  than 
what  I  said  when  I  asked  you  what  real  objection  there  was, 
in  your  opinion  to  Albert's  marryin'  your  —  er  —  Made 
line,  that's  her  name,  I  believe.  Seems  to  me  the  way 
for  us  to  get  to  an  understandin'  —  you  and  I  —  is  to  find 
out  just  how  the  situation  looks  to  each  of  us.  When  we've 
found  out  that,  we'll  know  how  nigh  we  come  to  agreein' 
or  disagreein'  and  can  act  accordin'.  Sounds  reasonable, 
don't  it?" 

Fosdick  nodded  in  his  turn.  '*  Perfectly,"  he  admitted. 
'*  Well,  ask  your  questions,  and  I'll  answer  them.  After 
that  perhaps  I'll  ask  some  myself.  Go  ahead." 

"  I  have  gone  ahead.     I've  asked  one  already." 

"  Yes,  buc  it  is  such  a  general  question.  There  may  be 
so  many  objections." 

"  I  see.  All  right,  then  I'll  ask  some :  What  do  the 
lawyers  call  'em ?  — Atlantic ?  Pacific?  I've  got  it  — I'll 
ask  some  specific  questions.  Here's  one.  Do  you  object 
to  Al  personally  ?  To  his  character  ?  " 


2i4  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Not  at  all.  We  know  nothing  about  his  character.  Very 
likely  he  may  be  a  young  saint." 

'*  Well,  he  ain't,  so  we'll  let  that  slide.  He's  a  good  boy, 
though,  so  far  as  I've  ever  been  able  to  find  out.  Is  it  his 
looks?  You've  never  seen  him,  but  your  wife  has.  Don't 
she  like  his  looks  ?  " 

"  She  hasn't  mentioned  his  looks  to  me." 

"  Is  it  his  money?     He  hasn't  got  any  of  his  own." 

"  We-ell,  of  course  that  does  count  a  little  bit.  Madeline 
is  our  only  child,  and  naturally  we  should  prefer  to  have  her 
pick  out  a  husband  with  a  dollar  or  so  in  reserve." 

*'  Um-hm.  Al's  twenty-one,  Mr.  Fosdick.  When  I  was 
twenty-one  I  had  some  put  by,  but  not  much.  I  presume 
likely  'twas  different  with  you,  maybe.  Probably  you  were 
pretty  well  fixed." 

Fosdick  laughed  aloud.  "  You  make  a  good  cross-exam 
iner,  Snow,"  he  observed.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  I 
was  twenty-one  I  was  assistant  bookkeeper  in  a  New  Haven 
broker's  office.  I  didn't  have  a  cent  except  my  salary,  and 
I  had  that  only  for  the  first  five  days  in  the  week." 

"  However,  you  got  married?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did.  More  fool  I !  If  I  had  known  anything, 
I  should  have  waited  five  years  at  least.  I  didn't  have 
any  one  to  tell  me  so.  My  father  and  mother  were  both 
dead." 

"  Think  you'd  have  listened  to  'em  if  they  had  been  alive 
and  had  told  you?  However,  however,  that's  all  to  one 
side.  Well,  Albert's  havin'  no  money  to  speak  of  is  an  ob 
jection —  and  a  good  honest  one  from  your  point  of  view. 
His  prospects  here  in  this  business  of  mine  are  fair,  and  he 
is  doin'  better  at  it  than  he  was,  so  he  may  make  a  comf'table 
livin'  —  a  comf'table  South  Harniss  livin',  that  is  —  by  and 
by." 

'*  Oh,  he  is  with  you,  then  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  my 
wife  said  he  worked  in  your  office.  But  she  said  more  about 
his  being  some  sort  of  a  —  a  poet,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  since  the  interview  began  the  captain 
looked  ill  at  ease  and  embarrassed. 


THE  PORTYGEE  215 

"  Thunderation !  "  he  exclaimed  testily,  "  you  mustn't  pay 
attention  to  that.  He  does  make  up  poetry  pieces  —  er  — 
on  the  side,  as  you  might  say,  but  I  keep  hopin'  all  the  time 
he'll  grow  out  of  it,  give  him  time.  It  ain't  his  regular  job, 
you  mustn't  think  'tis." 

The  visitor  laughed  again.  "  I'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said, 
"  both  for  your  sake  and  mine.  I  judge  that  you  and  I, 
Snow,  are  in  complete  agreement  as  far  as  our  opinion  of 
poetry  and  that  sort  of  stuff  is  concerned.  Of  course  I'm 
not  condemning  all  poetry,  you  understand.  Longfellow 
and  Tennyson  and  the  regular  poets  are  all  right.  You  un 
derstand  what  I'm  getting  at  ?  " 

'*  Sartin.  I  used  to  know  *  Down  went  the  R'yal  George 
with  all  her  crew  complete,'  and  a  lot  more.  Used  to  say 
'em  over  to  myself  when  I  first  went  to  sea  and  stood  watch 
alone  nights.  But  they  were  different,  you  know ;  they  — 
they—" 

'*  Sure !  My  wife  —  why,  I  give  you  my  word  that  my 
own  wife  and  her  set  go  perfectly  daffy  over  chaps  who 
write  stuff  that  rhymes  and  that  the  papers  are  printing 
columns  about.  Snow,  if  this  grandson  of  yours  was  a 
genuine  press-touted,  women's  club  poet  instead  of  a  would- 
be —  well,  I  don't  know  what  might  happen.  In  that  case 
she  might  be  as  strong  for  this  engagement  as  she  is  now 
against  it." 

He  paused,  seeming  a  bit  ashamed  of  his  own  heat.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes,  however,  regarded  him  with  more  approval 
than  he  had  yet  shown. 

"  It's  been  my  observation  that  women  are  likely  to  get 
off  the  course  chasin'  false  signals  like  that,"  he  observed. 
"  When  a  man  begins  lettin'  his  hair  and  his  mouth  run  wild 
together  seems  as  if  the  combination  had  an  attraction  for 
a  good  many  women  folks.  Al  keeps  his  hair  cut,  though, 
I'll  say  that  for  him,"  he  added.  *'  It  curls  some,  but  it  ain't 
long.  I  wouldn't  have  him  in  the  office  if  'twas. 

<4  Well,  Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  continued,  "  what  other  objec 
tions  are  they  ?  Manners  ?  Family  and  relations  ?  Educa 
tion?  Any  objections  along  that  line?" 


216  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  No-o,  no ;  I  —  well,  I  don't  know ;  you  see,  I  don't 
know  much  about  the  young  fellow." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  help  you  out.  As  to  manners  —  well, 
you  can  judge  them  for  yourself  when  you  see  him.  He 
seems  to  be  in  about  every  kind  of  social  doin's  there  is  down 
here,  and  he's  as  much  or  more  popular  with  the  summer 
folks  than  with  the  year-'rounders.  Education  ?  Well,  that's 
fair  to  middling  as  I  see  it.  He  spent  nine  or  ten  years  in 
a  mighty  expensive  boardin'  school  up  in  New  York  State." 

"Did  he?     What  school?" 

The  captain  gave  the  name  of  the  school.  Fosdick  looked 
surprised. 

"  Humph !    That  is  a  good  school,"  he  said. 

u  Is  it?  Depends  on  what  you  call  good,  I  cal'late.  Al 
learned  a  good  deal  of  this  and  that,  a  little  bit  of  foreign 
language,  some  that  they  call  dead  and  some  that  ought  to  be 
dead  —  and  buried,  'cordin'  to  my  notion.  When  he  came 
to  me  he  couldn't  add  up  a  column  of  ten  figgers  without 
makin'  a  mistake,  and  as  for  business  —  well,  what  he  knew 
about  business  was  about  equal  to  what  Noah  knew  about  a 
gas  engine." 

He  paused  to  chuckle,  and  Fosdick  chuckled  with  him. 

"  As  to  family,"  went  on  Captain  Lote,  *'  he's  a  Snow  on 
his  mother's  side,  and  there's  been  seven  generations  of 
Snow's  in  this  part  of  the  Cape  since  the  first  one  landed 
here.  So  far  as  I  know,  they've  all  managed  to  keep  out 
of  jail,  which  may  have  been  more  good  luck  than  deservin' 
in  some  cases." 

"  His  father  ?  "  queried  Fosdick. 

The  captain's  heavy  brows  drew  together.  '*  His  father 
was  a  Portygee  —  or  Spaniard,  I  believe  is  right  —  and  he 
was  a  play-actor,  one  of  those  —  what  do  you  call  'em?  — 
opera  singers." 

Fosdick  seemed  surprised  and  interested.  "  Oh,  indeed," 
he  exclaimed,  "  an  opera  singer  ?  .  .  .  Why,  he  wasn't  Spe^ 
ranza,  the  baritone,  was  he  ?  " 

"  Maybe ;  I  believe  he  was.  He  married  my  daughter  and 
—  well,  we  won't  talk  about  him,  if  you  don't  mind." 


THE  PORTYGEE  217 

*'  But  Speranza  was  a  — " 

"//  you  don't  mind,  Mr.  Fosdick." 

Captain  Lote  lapsed  into  silence,  drumming  the  desk  with 
his  big  fingers.  His  visitor  waited  for  a  few  moments.  At 
length  he  said: 

"  Well,  Captain  Snow,  I  have  answered  your  questions 
and  you  have  answered  mine.  Do  you  think  we  are  any 
nearer  an  agreement  now  ?  " 

Captain  Zelotes  seemed  to  awake  with  a  start.  '*  Eh  ?  " 
he  queried.  '*  Agreement  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Did  you 
find  any  —  er  —  what  you  might  call  vital  objections  in  the 
boy's  record  ?  " 

"  No-o.  No,  all  that  is  all  right.  His  family  and  his 
education  and  all  the  rest  are  good  enough,  I'm  sure.  But, 
nevertheless  — " 

"  You  still  object  to  the  young  folks  gettin'  married." 

*'  Yes,  I  do.  Hang  it  all,  Snow,  this  isn't  a  thing  one  can 
reason  out,  exactly.  Madeline  is  our  only  child ;  she  is  our 
pet,  our  baby.  Nafurally  her  mother  and  I  have  planned 
for  her,  hoped  for  her,  figured  that  some  day,  when  we  had 
to  give  her  up,  it  would  be  to  —  to  — " 

"  To  somebody  that  wasn't  Albert  Speranza  of  South 
Harniss,  Mass.  ...  Eh?" 

"  Yes.  Not  that  your  grandson  isn't  all  right.  I  have 
no  doubt  he  is  a  tip-top  young  fellow.  But,  you  see — " 

Captain  Lote  suddenly  leaned  forward.  "  Course  I  see, 
Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  interrupted.  "  Course  I  see.  You  ob 
ject,  and  the  objection  ain't  a  mite  weaker  on  account  of 
your  not  bein'  able  to  say  exactly  what  'tis." 

"  That's  the  idea.     Thank  you,  Captain." 

"  You're  welcome.  I  can  understand.  I  know  just  how 
you  feel,  because  I've  been  feelin'  the  same  way  myself." 

"  Oh,  you  have  ?  Good !  Then  you  can  sympathize  with 
Mrs.  Fosdick  and  with  me.  You  see  —  you  understand  why 
we  had  rather  our  daughter  did  not  marry  your  grandson." 

'*  Sartin.  You  see,  I've  had  just  the  same  sort  of  general 
kind  of  objection  to  Al's  marryin'  your  daughter." 

Mr.  Fletcher  Fosdick  leaned  slowly  backward  in  his  chair. 


2i8  THE  PORTYGEE 

His  appearance  was  suggestive  of  one  who  has  received  an 
unexpected  thump  between  the  eyes. 

'*  Oh,  you  have !  "  he  said  again,  but  not  with  the  same 
expression. 

"  Um-hm,"  said  Captain  Zelotes  gravely.  "  I'm  like  you 
in  one  way;  I've  never  met  your  Madeline  any  more  than 
you  have  met  Al.  I've  seen  her  once  or  twice,  and  she  is 
real  pretty  and  nice-lookin'.  But  I  don't  know  her  at  all. 
Now  I  don't  doubt  for  a  minute  but  that  she's  a  real  nice  girl 
and  it  might  be  that  she'd  make  Al  a  fairly  good  wife." 

"Er  — well,— thanks." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  I  mean  it.  It  might  be  she  would. 
And  I  ain't  got  a  thing  against  you  or  your  folks." 

"  Humph, —  er  —  thanks  again." 

"  That's  all  right ;  you  don't  need  to  thank  me.  But  it's 
this  way  with  me  —  I  live  in  South  Harniss  all  the  year 
round.  I  want  to  live  here  till  I  die,  and  —  after  I  die  I'd 
like  first-rate  to  have  Al  take  up  the  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  busi 
ness  and  the  Snow  house  and  land  and  k^ep  them  goin'  till  he 
dies.  Mind,  I  ain't  at  all  sure  that  he'll  do  it,  or  be  capable 
of  doin'  it,  but  that's  what  I'd  like.  Now  you're  in  New 
York  most  of  the  year,  and  so's  your  wife  and  daughter. 
New  York  is  all  right  —  I  ain't  sayin'  a  word  against  it  — 
but  New  York  and  South  Harniss  are  different."  . 

The  Fosdick  lip  twitched.  "  Somewhat  different,"  he 
admitted. 

"  Um-hm.  That  sounds  like  a  joke,  I  know ;  but  I  don't 
mean  it  so,  not  now.  What  I  mean  is  that  I  know  South 
Harniss  and  South  Harniss  folks.  I  don't  know  New  York 
—  not  so  very  well,  though  I've  been  there  plenty  of  times  — 
and  I  don't  know  New  York  ways.  But  I  do  know  South 
Harniss  ways,  and  they  suit  me.  Would  they  suit  your 
daughter  —  not  just  for  summer,  but  «as  a  reg'lar  thing  right 
straight  along  year  in  and  out?  I  doubt  it,  Mr.  Fosdick,  I 
doubt  it  consid'able.  Course  I  don't  know  your  daugh 
ter—" 

"I  do  —  and  I  share  your  doubts." 

"  Um-hm.     But  whether  she  liked  it  or  not  she'd  have  to 


THE  PORTYGEE  219 

come  here  if  she  married  my  grandson.  Either  that  or  he'd 
have  to  go  to  New  York.  And  if  he  went  to  New  York,  how 
would  he  earn  his  livin'?  Get  a  new  bookkeepin'  job  and 
start  all  over  again,  or  live  on  poetry  ?  " 

Mr.  Fosdick  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  seemed  to 
change  his  mind  and  closed  it  again,  without  speaking.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes,  looking  keenly  at  him,  seemed  to  guess  his 
thoughts. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said  deliberately,  but  with  a  firmness 
which  permitted  no  misunderstanding  of  his  meaning,  <4  of 
course  you  mustn't  get  it  into  your  head  for  one  minute  that 
the  boy  is  figgerin'  on  vour  daughter's  bein'  a  rich  girl.  He 
hasn't  given  that  a  thought.  You  take  my  word  for  that, 
Mr.  Fosdick.  He  doesn't  know  how  much  money  she  or 
you  have  got  and  he  doesn't  care.  He  doesn't  care  a  con 
tinental  darn." 

His  visitor  smiled  slightly.  "  Nevertheless,"  he  began. 
The  captain  interrupted  him. 

"  No,  there  ain't  any  nevertheless,"  he  said.  "  Albert  has 
been  with  me  enough  years  now  so  that  I  know  a  little  about 
him.  And  I  know  that  all  he  wants  is  your  daughter.  As 
to  how  much  she's  wor.th  in  money  or  how  they're  goin' 
to  live  after  he's  got  her  —  I  know  that  he  hasn't  given  it 
one  thought.  I  don't  imagine  she  has,  either.  For  one  rea 
son,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  he  is  too  poor  a  business  man 
to  think  of  marriage  as  a  business,  bill-payin'  contract,  and 
for  another, —  for  another  —  why,  good  Lord,  Fosdick !  "  he 
exclaimed,  leaning  forward,  "  don't  you  know  what  this 
thing  means  to  those  two  young  folks?  It  means  just  moon 
shine  and  mush  and  lookin'  into  each  other's  eyes,  that's 
about  all.  They  haven't  thought  any  practical  thoughts 
about  it.  Why,  think  what  their  ages  are !  Think  of  your 
self  at  that  age !  Can't  you  remember.  .  .  .  Humph  !  Well, 
I'm  talkin'  fifty  revolutions  to  the  second.  I  beg  your  par 
don." 

"  That's  all  right,  Snow.  And  I  believe  you  have  the 
situation  sized  up  as  it  is.  Still  — " 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Fosdick,  but  don't  you  think  it's  about 


220  THE  PORTYGEE 

time  you  had  a  look  at  the  boy  himself?  I'm  goin*  to  ask 
him  to  come  in  here  and  meet  you." 

Fosdick  looked  troubled.  "  Think  it  is  good  policy  ?  "  he 
asked  doubtfully.  **  I  want  to  see  him  and  speak  with  him, 
but  I  do  hate  a  scene." 

'*  There  won't  be  any  scene.  You  just  meet  him  face  to 
face  and  talk  enough  with  him  to  get  a  little  idea  of  what 
your  first  impression  is.  Don't  contradict  or  commit  your 
self  or  anything.  And  I'll  send  him  out  at  the  end  of  two  or 
three  minutes." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  rose,  opened  the  door  to 
the  outer  office  and  called,  "  Al,  come  in  here !  "  When  Al 
bert  had  obeyed  the  order  he  closed  the  door  behind  him 
and  turning  to  the  gentleman  in  the  visitor's  chair,  said: 
'*  Mr.  Fosdick,  this  is  my  grandson,  Albert  Speranza.  Al, 
shake  hands  with  Mr.  Fosdick  from  New  York." 

While  awaiting  the  summons  to  meet  the  father  of  his 
adored,  Albert  had  been  rehearsing  and  re-rehearsing  the 
speeches  he  intended  making  when  that  meeting  took  place. 
Sitting  at  his  desk,  pen  in  hand  and  pretending  to  be  busy 
with  the  bookkeeping  of  Z.  Snow  and  Company,  he  had 
seen,  not  the  ruled  page  of  the  day  book,  but  the  parental 
countenance  of  the  Honorable  Fletcher  Fosdick.  And,  to 
his  mind's  eye,  that  countenance  was  as  rugged  and  stern  as 
the  rock-bound  coast  upon  which  the  Pilgrims  landed,  and 
about  as  unyielding  and  impregnable  as  the  door  of  the  of 
fice  safe.  So,  when  his  grandfather  called  him,  he  de 
scended  from  the  tall  desk  stool  and  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  inner  room,  a  trifle  pale,  a  little  shaky  at  the  knees, 
but  with  the  set  chin  and  erect  head  of  one  who,  facing  al 
most  hopeless  odds,  intends  fighting  to  the  last  gasp. 

To  his  Astonishment  the  Fosdick  countenance  was  not  as 
his  imagination  had  pictrred  it.  The  blue  eyes  met  his,  not 
with  a  glare  or  a  glower,  but  with  a  look  of  interest  and  in 
quiry.  The  Fosdick  hand  shook  his  with  politeness,  and  the 
Fosdick  manner  was,  if  not  genial,  at  least  quiet  and  mat 
ter  of  fact.  He  was  taken  aback.  W7hat  did  it  mean  ?  Was 
it  possible  that  Madeline's  father  was  inclined  to  regard  her 


THE  PORTYGEE  221 

engagement  to  him  with  favor?  A  great  throb  of  joy  ac 
companied  the  thought.  Then  he  remembered  the  letter  he 
had  just  read,  the  letter  from  Madeline's  mother,  and  the 
hope  subsided. 

"  Albert,"  said  Captain  Zelotes,  "  Mr.  Fosdick  has  come 
on  here  to  talk  with  us ;  that  is,  with  me  and  you,  about  your 
affairs.  He  and  I  have  talked  up  to  the  point  where  it 
seemed  to  me  you  ought  to  come  in  for  a  spell.  I've  told  him 
that  the  news  that  you  and  his  daughter  were  —  er  —  fa 
vorably  disposed  toward  each  other  was  as  sudden  and  as 
big  a  surprise  to  me  as  'twas  to  him.  Even  your  grandma 
don't  know  it  yet.  Now  I  presume  likely  he'd  like  to  ask 
you  a  few  questions.  Heave  ahead,  Mr.  Fosdick." 

He  relit  his  cigar  stump  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
Mr.  Fosdick  leaned  forward  in  his.  Albert  stood  very 
straight,  his  shoulders  braced  for  the  encounter.  The  quiz 
zical  twinkle  shone  in  Captain  Lote's  eye  as  he  regarded 
his  grandson.  Fosdick  also  smiled  momentarily  as  he  caught 
the  expression  of  the  youth's  face. 

*'  Well,  Speranza,"  he  began,  in  so  cheerful  a  tone  that 
Albert's  astonishment  grew  even  greater,  u  your  grand 
father  has  been  kind  enough  to  get  us  through  the  prelim 
inaries,  so  we'll  come  at  once  to  the  essentials.  You  and  my 
daughter  consider  yourselves  engaged  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     We  are  engaged." 

u  I  see.  How  long  have  you  —  um  —  been  that  way,  so 
to  speak?" 

"  Since  last  August." 

"  Why  haven't  you  said  anything  about  it  to  us  —  to  Mrs. 
Fosdick  or  me  or  your  people  here  ?  You  must  excuse  these 
personal  questions.  As  I  have  just  said  to  Captain  Snow, 
Madeline  is  our  only  child,  and  her  happiness  and  welfare 
mean  about  all  there  is  in  life  to  her  mother  and  me.  So, 
naturally,  the  man  she  is  going  to  marry  is  an  important 
consideration.  You  and  I  have  never  met  before,  so  the 
quickest  way  of  reaching  an  understanding  between  us  is  by 
the  question  route.  You  get  my  meaning  ?  " 

**  Yes,  sir,  I  guess  I  do." 


222  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Good !  Then  we'll  go  ahead.  Why  have  you  two  kept 
it  a  secret  so  long?  " 

"  Because  —  well,  because  we  knew  we  couldn't  marry  yet 
a  while,  so  we  thought  we  had  better  not  announce  it  for  the 
present." 

'*  Oh !  .  .  .  And  the  idea  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Fosdick  and  I 
might  be  slightly  interested  didn't  occur  to  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,  it  did.  But, —  but  we  thought  it  best  not 
to  tell  you  until  later." 

"  Perhaps  the  suspicion  that  we  might  not  be  overjoyed 
by  the  news  had  a  little  weight  with  you,  eh?  Possibly 
that  helped  to  delay  the  —  er  —  announcement  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  —  I  don't  think  it  did." 

"  Oh,  don't  you !  Perhaps  you  thought  we  would  be 
overjoyed?  " 

0  No,  sir.  We  didn't  think  so  very  much  about  it.  ... 
Well,  that's  not  quite  true.  Madeline  felt  that  her  mother 
—  and  you,  too,  sir,  I  suppose,  although  she  didn't  speak  as 
often  of  you  in  that  way  —  she  felt  that  her  mother  would 
disapprove  at  first,  and  so  we  had  better  wait." 

"Until  when?" 

"  Until  —  until  by  and  by.  Until  I  had  gone  ahead  fur 
ther,  you  know." 

"  Fin  not  sure  that  I  do  know.  Gone  ahead  how  ?  Until 
you  had  a  better  position,  more  salary  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.  Until  my  writings  were  better  known. 
Until  I  was  a  little  more  successful." 

"  Successful  ?  Until  you  wrote  more  poetry,  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Poetry  and  other  things,  stories  and  plays, 
perhaps." 

"  Do  you  mean  —  Did  you  figure  that  you  and  Madeline 
were  to  live  on  what  you  made  by  writing  poetry  and  the 
other  stuff?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  of  course." 

Fosdick  looked  across  at  Captain  Zelotes.  The  Captain's 
face  was  worth  looking  at. 

"Here,  here,  hold  on!"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  into  the 


THE  PORTYGEE  223 

conversation.  "  Al,  what  are  you  talkin'  about  ?  You're 
bookkeeper  for  me,  ain't  you;  for  this  concern  right  here 
where  you  are?  What  do  you  mean  by  talkin'  as  if  your 
job  was  makin'  up  poetry  pieces?  That's  only  what  you  do 
on  the  side,  and  you  know  it.  Eh,  ain't  that  so  ?  " 

Albert  hesitated.  He  had,  momentarily,  forgotten  his 
grandfather  and  the  latter's  prejudices.  Alter  all,  what 
was  the  use  of  stirring  up  additional  trouble. 

"  Yes,  Grandfather,"  he  said. 

"  Course  it's  so.  It's  in  this  office  that  you  draw  your 
wages." 

u  Yes,  Grandfather." 

"  All  right.  Excuse  me  for  nosin'  in,  Mr.  Fosdick,  but  I 
knew  the  boy  wasn't  puttin'  the  thiqg  as  plain  as  it  ought 
to  be,  and  I  didn't  want  you  to  get  the  wrong  notion.  Heave 
ahead." 

Fosdick  smiled  slightly.  "All  right,  Captain,"  he  said. 
"  I  get  it,  I  think.  Well,  then,"  turning  again  to  Albert, 
"  your  plan  for  supporting  my  daughter  was  to  wait  until 
your  position  here,  plus  the  poetry,  should  bring  in  sufficient 
revenue.  It  didn't  occur  to  you  that  —  well,  that  there 
might  be  a  possibility  of  getting  money  —  elsewhere  ?  " 

Albert  plainly  did  not  understand,  but  it  was  just  as  plain 
that  his  grandfather  did.  Captain  Zelotes  spoke  sharply. 

"  Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  said,  '*  I  just  answered  that  question 
for  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  if  you  were  in  my  place  you  might 
like  to  have  him  answer  it.  I  don't  mean  to  be  offensive, 
but  business  is  business,  and,  after  all,  this  is  a  business  talk. 
So—" 

The  Captain  interrupted.  "  So  we'll  talk  it  in  a  business 
way,  eh  ?  "  he  snapped.  "  All  right.  Al,  what  Mr.  Fosdick 
means  is  had  you  cal'lated  that,  if  you  married  his  daughter, 
maybe  her  dad's  money  might  help  you  and  her  to  keep  go- 
in'?  To  put  it  even  plainer:  had  you  planned  some  on  her 
bein'  a  rich  girl  ?  " 

Fosdick  looked  annoyed.  "  Oh,  I  say,  Snow !  "  he  cried. 
"  That's  too  strong,  altogether." 


224  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Not  a  mite.  It's  what  you've  had  in  the  back  of  your 
head  all  along.  I'm  just  helpin'  it  to  come  out  of  the  front. 
Well,  Al?" 

The  red  spots  were  burning  in  the  Speranza  cheeks.  He 
choked  as  he  answered. 

"  No,"  he  cried  fiercely.  '*  Of  course  I  haven't  planned 
on  any  such  thing.  I  don't  know  how  rich  she  is.  I  don't 
care.  I  wish  she  was  as  poor  as  —  as  I  am.  I  want  her, 
that's  all.  And  she  wants  me.  We  don't  either  of  us  care 
about  money.  I  wouldn't  take  a  cent  of  your  money,  Mr. 
Fosdick.  But  I  —  I  want  Madeline  and  —  and  —  I  shall 
have  her." 

"  In  spite  of  her  parents,  eh  ?  " 

*'  Yes.  .  .  .  I'm  sorry  to  speak  so,  Mr.  Fosdick,  but  it  is 
true.  We  —  we  love  each  other.  We  —  we've  agreed  to 
wait  for  each  other,  no  matter  —  no  matter  if  it  is  years 
and  years.  And  as  for  the  money  and  all  that,  if  you  disin 
herit  her,  or  —  or  whatever  it  is  they  do  —  we  don't  care. 
I  —  I  hope  you  will.  I  —  she  — " 

Captain  Zelotes'  voice  broke  in  upon  the  impassioned  out 
burst. 

"  Steady,  Al ;  steady,  son,"  he  cautioned  quietly.  "  I  car- 
late  you've  said  enough.  I  don't  think  any  more's  neces 
sary.  You'd  better  go  back  to  your  desk  now." 

<4  But,  Grandfather,  I  want  him  to  understand  — 

"  I  guess  likely  he  does.  I  should  say  you'd  made  it  real 
plain.  Go  now,  Al." 

Albert  turned,  but,  with  a  shaking  hand  upon  the  door 
knob,  turned  back  again. 

••  I'm  _  I  _  i'm  sorry,  Mr.  Fosdick,"  he  faltered.  "  I  — 
I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings.  But  — 
but,  you  see,  Madeline  —  she  and  I  —  we  — ' 

He  could  not  go  on.  Fosdick's  nod  and  answer  were 
not  unkindly.  "  All  right,  Speranza,"  he  said,  "  I'm 
not  offended.  Hope  I  wasn't  too  blunt,  myself.  Good- 
day." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  young  man  he 
turned  to  Captain  Lote. 


THE  PORTYGEE  225 

"  Sorry  if  I  offended  you,  Snow,"  he  observed.  4<  I 
threw  in  that  hint  about  marrying  just  to  see  what  effect  it 
would  have,  that's  all." 

*'  Um-hm.     So  I  judged.     Well,  you  saw,  didn't  you?  " 

"  I  did.  Say,  Captain,  except  as  a  prospective  son-in-law, 
and  then  only  because  I  don't  see  him  in  that  light  —  I  rather 
like  that  grandson  of  yours.  He's  a  fine,  upstanding  young 
chap." 

The  captain  made  no  reply.  He  merely  pulled  at  his 
beard.  However,  he  did  not  look  displeased. 

"  He's  a  handsome  specimen,  isn't  he  ?  "  went  on  Fosdick. 
"  No  wonder  Madeline  fell  for  his  looks.  Those  and  the 
poetry  together  are  a  combination  hard  to  resist  —  at  her 
age.  And  he's  a  gentleman.  He  handled  himself  mighty 
well  while  I  was  stringing  him  just  now." 

The  beard  tugging  continued.  *'  Um-hm,"  observed  Cap 
tain  Zelotes  dryly ;  "  he  does  pretty  well  for  a  —  South  Har- 
niss  gentleman.  But  we're  kind  of  wastin'  time,  ain't  we, 
Mr.  Fosdick  ?  In  spite  of  his  looks  and  his  manners  and  all 
the  rest,  now  that  you've  seen  him  you  still  object  to  that 
engagement,  I  take  it." 

"  Why,  yes,  I  do.     The  boy  is  all  right,  I'm  sure,  but  — " 

'*  Sartin,  I  understand.  I  feel  the  same  way  abjut  your 
girl.  She's  all  right,  I'm  sure,  but —  We're  agreed  on 
everything,  includin'  the  '  but.'  And  the  *  but '  is  that  New 
York  is  one  place  and  South  Harniss  is  another." 

"  Exactly." 

"  So  we  don't  want  'em  to  marry.  Fine.  First  rate ! 
Only  now  we  come  to  the  most  important  *  but '  of  all. 
What  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  Suppose  we  say  no  and 
they  say  yes  and  keep  on  sayin'  it  ?  Suppose  they  decide  to 
get  married  no  matter  what  we  say.  How  are  we  goin'  to 
stop  it?" 

His  visitor  regarded  him  for  a  moment  and  then  broke 
into  a  hearty  laugh. 

4<  Snow,"  he  declared,  "  you're  all  right.  You  surely 
have  the  faculty  of  putting  your  finger  on  the  weak  spots. 
Of  Bourse  we  can't  stop  it.  If  these  two  young  idiots  have 


226  THE  PORTYGEE 

a  mind  to  marry  and  keep  that  mind,  they  will  marry  and 
we  can't  prevent  it  any  more  than  we  could  prevent  the  tide 
coming  in  to-morrow  morning.  /  realized  that  this  was  a 
sort  of  fool's  errand,  my  coming  down  here.  I  know  that 
this  isn't  the  age  when  parents  can  forbid  marriages  and  get 
away  with  it,  as  they  used  to  on  the  stage  in  the  old  plays. 
Boys  and  girls  nowadays  have  a  way  of  going  their  own 
gait  in  such  matters.  But  my  wife  doesn't  see  it  in  exactly 
that  way,  and  she  was  so  insistent  on  my  coming  down  here 
to  stop  the  thing  if  I  could  that  —  well,  I  came." 

*'  I'm  glad  you  did,  Mr.  Fosdick,  real  glad.  And,  al 
though  I  agree  with  you  that  the  very  worst  thing  to  do,  if 
we  want  to  stop  this  team  from  pullin'  together,  is  to  haul 
back  on  the  bits  and  holler  *  Whoa/  still  I'm  kind  of  hope 
ful  that,  maybe  .  .  .  humph!  I  declare,  it  looks  as  if  I'd 
have  to  tell  you  another  story.  I'm  gettin'  as  bad  as  Cap'n 
Hannibal  Doane  used  to  be,  and  they  used  to  call  him  '  The 
Rope  Walk  '  'cause  he  spun  so  many  yarns." 

Fosdick  laughed  again.  "  You  may  go  as  far  as  you  like 
with  your  stories,  Captain,"  he  said.  "  I  can  grow  fat  on 
them." 

"Thanks.  Well,  this  ain't  a  story  exactly;  it  just  kind 
of  make:  the  point  I'm  tryin'  to  get  at.  Calvin  Bangs  had 
a  white  mare  one  time  and  the  critter  had  a  habit  of  run- 
nin'  away.  Once  his  wife,  Hannah  J.,  was  in  the  buggy  all 
by  herself,  over  to  the  Ostable  Fair,  Calvin  havin'  got  out 
to  buy  some  peanuts  or  somethin'.  The  mare  got  scared 
of  the  noise  and  crowd  and  bolted.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
she  went  right  through  the  fence  and  out  onto  the  trottin' 
track.  And  around  that  track  she  went,  hell  bent  for  elec 
tion.  All  hands  was  runnin'  alongside  hollerin'  '  Stop  her ! 
Stop  her ! '  but  not  Calvin  —  no  sir!  He  waited  till  the  mare 
was  abreast  of  him,  the  mare  on  two  legs  and  the  buggy  on 
two  wheels  and  Hannah  'most  *  anywheres  between  the 
dasher  and  the  next  world,  and  then  he  sung  out :  '  Give 
her  her  head,  Hannah!  Give  her  her  head.  She'll  stop 
when  she  runs  down/  J; 

He  laughed  and  his  visitor  laughed  with  him. 


THE  PORTYGEE  227 

"  I  gather,"  observed  the  New  Yorker,  "  that  you  be 
lieve  it  the  better  policy  to  give  our  young  people  their 
heads." 

"In  reason  —  yes,  I  do.  It's  my  judgment  that  an  af 
fair  like  this  will  hurry  more  and  more  if  you  try  too  hard 
to  stop  it.  If  you  don't  try  at  all  so  any  one  would  notice 
it,  it  may  run  down  and  stop  of  itself,  the  way  Calvin's 
mare  did." 

Fosdick  nodded  reflectively.  "  I'm  inclined  to  agree  with 
you,"  he  said.  "  But  does  that  mean  that  they're  to  corre 
spond,  write  love  letters,  and  all  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  reason,  maybe.  If  we  say  no  to  that,  they'll 
write  anyhow,  won't  they  ?  " 

"Of  course.  .  .  .  How  would  it  do  to  get  them  to  prom 
ise  to  write  nothing  that  their  parents  might  not  see?  Of 
course  I  don't  mean  for  your  grandson  to  show  you  his  let 
ters  before  he  sends  them  to  Madeline.  He's  too  old  for 
that,  and  he  would  refuse.  But  suppose  you  asked  him  to 
agree  to  write  nothing  that  Madeline  would  not  be  willing 
to  show  her  mother  —  or  me.  Do  you  think  he  would  ?  " 

"  Maybe.  I'll  ask  him.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  guess  likely  he'd  do 
that." 

"  My  reason  for  suggesting  it  is,  frankly,  not  so  much  on 
account  of  the  young  people  as  to  pacify  my  wife.  I  am  not 
afraid  —  not  very  much  afraid  of  this  love  affair.  They  are 
young,  both  of  them.  Give  them  time,  and  —  as  you  say, 
Snow,  the  thing  may  run  down,  peter  out." 

"  I'm  in  hopes  'twill.  It's  calf  love,  as  I  see  it,  and  I 
believe  'twill  pay  to  give  the  calves  rope  enough." 

"  So  do  I.  No,  I'm  not  much  troubled  about  the  young 
people.  But  Mrs.  Fosdick  —  well,  my  trouble  will  be  with 
her.  She'll  want  to  have  your  boy  shot  or  jailed  or  hanged 
or  something." 

'*  I  presume  likely.  I  guess  you'll  have  to  handle  her  the 
way  another  feller  who  used  to  live  here  in  South  Harniss 
said  he  handled  his  wife.  '  We  don't  never  have  any  trouble 
at  all,'  says  he.  '  Whenever  she  says  yes  or  no,  I  say  the 
same  thing.  Later  on,  when  it  comes  to  doin',  I  do  what  I 


228  THE  PORTYGEE 

feel  like/  ...  Eh?  You're  not  goin',  are  you,  Mr.  Fos 
dick?" 

His  visitor  had  risen  and  was  reaching  for  his  coat. 
Captain  Zelotes  also  rose. 

"  Don't  hurry,  don't  hurry,"  he  begged. 

*'  Sorry,  but  I  must.  I  want  to  be  back  in  New  York  to 
morrow  morning." 

"  But  you  can't,  can  you  ?  To  do  that  you'll  have  to  get 
up  to  Boston  or  Fall  River,  and  the  afternoon  train's  gone. 
You'd  better  stay  and  have  supper  along  with  my  wife  and 
me,  stay  at  our  house  over  night,  and  take  the  early  train 
after  breakfast  to-morrow." 

"  I  wish  I  could ;  I'd  like  nothing  better.     But  I  can't." 

"Sure?"  Then,  with  a  smile,  he  added:  "  Al  needn't 
eat  with  us,  you  know,  if  his  bein'  there  makes  either  of  you 
feel  nervous." 

Fosdick  laughed  again.  *'  I  think  I  should  be  willing  to 
risk  the  nervousness,"  he  replied.  *'  But  I  must  go,  really. 
I've  hired  a  chap  at  the  garage  here  to  drive  me  to  Boston 
in  his  car  and  I'll  take  the  midnight  train  over." 

"  Humph  !  Well,  if  you  must,  you  must.  Hope  you  have 
a  comf 'table  trip,  Mr.  Fosdick.  Better  wrap  up  warm ;  it's 
pretty  nigh  a  five-hour  run  to  Boston  and  there's  some  cool 
wind  over  the  Ostable  marshes  this  time  of  year.  Good-by, 
sir.  Glad  to  have  had  this  talk  with  you." 

His  visitor  held  out  his  hand.  "  So  am  I,  Snow,"  he 
said  heartily.  "  Mighty  glad." 

"  I  hope  I  wasn't  too  short  and  brisk  at  the  beginnin'. 
You  see,  I'd  just  read  your  wife's  letter,  and  —  er  —  well, 
of  course,  I  didn't  know  —  just  —  you  see,  you  and  I  had 
never  met,  and  so  — " 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  I  quite  understand.  And,  fool's 
errand  or  not,  I'm  very  glad  I  came  here.  If  you'll  pardon 
my  saying  so,  it  was  worth  the  trip  to  get  acquainted  with 
you.  I  hope,  whatever  comes  of  the  other  thing,  that  our 
acquaintanceship  will  continue." 

"  Same  here,  same  here.  Go  right  out  the  side  door,  Mr. 
Fosdick,  saves  goin'  through  the  office.  Good  day,  sir." 


THE  PORTYGEE  229 

He  watched  the  bulky  figure  of  the  New  York  banker 
tramping  across  the  yard  between  the  piles  of  lumber.  A 
moment  later  he  entered  the  outer  office.  Albert  and  Keeler 
were  at  their  desks.  Captain  Zelotes  approached  the  little 
bookkeeper. 

"  Labe,"  he  queried,  "  there  isn't  anything  particular  you 
want  me  to  talk  about  just  now,  is  there?  " 

Laban  looked  up  in  surprise  from  his  figuring. 

"  Why  —  why,  no,  Cap'n  Lote,  don't  know's  there  is,"  he 
said.  "  Don't  know's  there  is,  not  now,  no,  no,  no." 

His  employer  nodded.  *'  Good !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Then 
I'm  goin'  back  inside  there  and  sit  down  and  rest  my  chin 
for  an  hour,  anyhow.  I've  talked  so  much  to-day  that  my 
jaws  squeak.  Don't  disturb  me  for  anything  short  of  a 
fire  or  a  mutiny." 


H 


CHAPTER  XII 

E  was  not  disturbed  and  that  evening,  after  supper 
was  over,  he  was  ready  to  talk  again.  He  and 

Albert  sat  together  in  the  sitting  room  —  Mrs. 

Snow  and  Rachel  were  in  the  kitchen  washing  dishes  —  and 
Captain  Zelotes  told  his  grandson  as  much  as  he  thought 
advisable  to  tell  of  his  conversation  with  the  Honorable 
Fletcher  Fosdick.  At  first  Albert  was  inclined  to  rebel  at 
the  idea  of  permitting  his  letters  to  Madeline  to  be  read  by 
the  latter's  parents,  but  at  length  he  agreed. 

"  I'll  do  it  because  it  may  make  it  easier  for  her,"  he  said. 
"  She'll  have  a  dreadful  time,  I  suppose,  with  that  unrea 
sonable  mother  of  hers.  But,  by  George,  Grandfather,"  he 
exclaimed,  '  isn't  she  splendid,  though !  " 

"Who?     Mrs.  Fosdick?" 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  indignantly.  "  Madeline.  Isn't  she 
splendid  and  fine  and  loyal!  I  want  you  to  know  her, 
Grandfather,  you  and  Grandmother." 

"  Um-hm.  Well,  we'll  hope  to,  some  day.  Now,  son,  I'm 
goin'  to  ask  for  another  promise.  It  may  seem  a  hard  one 
to  make,  but  I'm  askin*  you  to  make  it.  I  want  you  to  give 
me  your  word  that,  no  matter  what  happens  or  how  long 
you  have  to  wait,  you  and  Madeline  won't  get  married 
without  tellin'  her  folks  and  yours  beforehand.  You  won't 
run  away  and  marry.  Will  you  promise  me  that  ?  " 

Albert  looked  at  him.  This  was  a  hard  promise  to  make. 
In  their  talks  beneath  the  rainbows,  whenever  he  and  Mad 
eline  had  referred  to  the  future  and  its  doubts,  they  had 
always  pushed  those  doubts  aside  with  vague  hints  of  an 
elopement.  If  the  unreasonableness  of  parents  and  grand 
parents  should  crowd  them  too  far,  they  had  always  as  a 
last  resort,  the  solution  of  their  problem  by  way  of  a  run- 

230 


THE  PORTYGEE  231 

away  marriage.  And  now  Captain  Zelotes  was  asking  him 
to  give  up  this  last  resort. 

The  captain,  watching  him  keenly,  divined  what  was  in 
his  grandson's  mind. 

"  Think  it  over,  Al,"  he  said  kindly.  *'  Don't  answer  me 
now,  but  think  it  over,  and  to-morrow  mornin'  tell  me  how 
you  feel  about  it."  He  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  added : 
**  You  know  your  grandmother  and  I,  we  —  well,  we  have 
maybe  cause  to  be  a  little  mite  prejudiced  against  this  elop- 
in*  business." 

So  Albert  thought,  and  the  next  morning,  as  the  pair  were 
walking  together  to  the  office,  he  spoke  his  thought.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes  had  not  mentioned  the  subject. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Albert,  with  some  embarrassment, 
"  I'm  going  to  give  you  that  promise." 

His  grandfather,  who  had  been  striding  along,  his  heavy 
brows  drawn  together  and  his  glance  fixed  upon  the  frozen 
ground  beneath  his  feet,  looked  up. 

"  Eh  ?  "  he  queried,  uncomprehendingly. 

**  You  asked  me  last  night  to  promise  you  something,  you 
know.  .  .  .  You  asked  me  to  think  it  over.  I  have,  and  I'm 
going  to  promise  you  that  —  Madeline  and  I  won't  marry 
without  first  telling  you." 

Captain  Zelotes  stopped  in  his  stride;  then  he  walked  on 
again. 

•'  Thank  you,  Al,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  hoped  you'd  see 
it  that  way." 

u  Yes  —  yes,  I  —  I  do.  I  don't  want  to  bring  any  more  — 
trouble  of  that  kind  to  you  and  Grandmother.  ...  It  seems 
to  me  that  you  —  that  you  have  had  too  much  already." 

"  Thank  you,  son.  .  .  .  Much  obliged." 

The  captain's  tone  Was  almost  gruff  and  that  was  his  only 
reference  to  the  subject  of  the  promise;  but  somehow  Al 
bert  felt  that  at  that  moment  he  and  his  grandfather  were 
closer  together,  were  nearer  to  a  mutual  understanding  and 
mutual  appreciation  than  they  had  ever  been  before. 

To  promise,  however,  is  one  thing,  to  fulfill  the  obligation 
another.  As  the  days  passed  Albert  found  his  promise  con- 


232  THE  PORTYGEE 

earning  letter-writing  very,  very  hard  to  keep.  When,  each 
evening  he  sat  down  at  the  table  in  his  room  to  pour  out  his 
soul  upon  paper  it  was  a  most  unsatisfactory  outpouring. 
The  constantly  enforced  recollection  that  whatever  he  wrote 
would  be  subject  to  the  chilling  glance  of  the  eye  of  Fosdick 
mater  was  of  itself  a  check  upon  the  flow.  To  write  a  love 
letter  to  Madeline  had  hitherto  been  a  joy,  a  rapture,  to  fill 
pages  and  pages  a  delight.  Now,  somehow,  these  pages 
were  hard  to  fill.  Omitting  the  very  things  you  were  dying 
to  say,  the  precious,  the  intimate  things  —  what  was  the~e 
left?  He  and  she  had,  at  their  meetings  and  in  their  former 
correspondence,  invented  many  delightful  little  pet  names 
for  each  other.  Now  those  names  were  taboo;  or,  at  any 
rate,  they  might  as  well  be.  The  thought  of  Mrs.  Fosdick's 
sniff  of  indignant  disgust  at  finding  her  daughter  referred 
to  as  some  one's  ownest  little  rosebud  withered  that  bud 
before  it  reached  the  paper. 

And  Madeline's  letters  to  him  were  quite  as  unsatisfac 
tory.  They  were  lengthy,  but  oh,  so  matter  of  fact!  Sa- 
haras  of  fact  without  one  oasis  of  sentiment.  She  was  well 
and  she  had  done  this  and  that  and  had  been  to  see  such 
and  such  plays  and  operas.  Father  was  well  and  very  busy. 
Mother,  too,  was  well,  so  was  Googoo  —  but  these  last  two 
bits  of  news  failed  to  comfort  him  as  they  perhaps  should. 
He  could  only  try  to  glean  between  the  lines,  and  as  Mrs. 
Fosdick  had  raked  between  those  lines  before  him,  the  glean 
ing  was  scant  picking  indeed. 

He  found  himself  growing  disconsolate  and  despondent. 
Summer  seemed  ages  away.  And  when  at  last  it  should 
come  —  what  would  happen  then?  He  could  see  her  only 
when  properly  chaperoned,  only  when  Mother,  and  prob 
ably  Googoo,  were  present.  He  flew  for  consolation  to  the 
Muse  and  the  Muse  refused  to  console.  The  poems  he 
wrote  were  "  blue  "  and  despairing  likewise.  Consequently 
they  did  not  sell.  He  was  growing  desperate,  ready  for 
anything.  And  something  came.  Germany  delivered  to  our 
Government  its  arrogant  mandate  concerning  unlimited  sub 
marine  warfare.  A  long-suffering  President  threw  pa- 


THE  PORTYGEE  233 

tience  overboard  and  answered  that  mandate  in  unmistak 
able  terms.  Congress  stood  at  his  back  and  behind  them  a 
united  and  indignant  people.  The  United  States  declared 
war  upon  the  Hun. 

South  Harniss,  like  every  other  community,  became  wildly 
excited.  Captain  Zelotes  Snow's  gray  eyes  flashed  fiery 
satisfaction.  The  flags  at  the  Snow  place  and  at  the  lum 
ber  yard  flew  high  night  and  day.  He  bought  newspapers 
galore  and  read  from  them  aloud  at  meals,  in  the  evenings, 
and  before  breakfast.  Issachar,  as  usual,  talked  much  and 
said  little.  Laban  Keeler's  comments  were  pithy  and  dryly 
pointed.  Albert  was  very  quiet. 

But  one  forenoon  he  spoke.  Captain  Lote  was  in  the 
inner  office,  the  morning  newspaper  in  his  hand,  when  his 
grandson  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him.  The 
captain  looked  up. 

"  Well,  Al,  what  is  it?  "  he  asked. 

Albert  came  over  and  stood  beside  the  desk.  The  cap 
tain,  after  a  moment's  scrutiny  of  the  young  man's  face,  put 
down  his  newspaper. 

"Weil,  Al?"  he  said,  again. 

Albert  seemed  to  find  it  hard  to  speak. 

"  Grandfather/'  he  began,  4<  I  —  I  —  Grandfather,  I  have 
come  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

The  captain  nodded,  slowly,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  his 
grandson's  face. 

u  All  right ;  heave  ahead,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Grandfather,  you  and  I  have  had  a  four  years'  agree 
ment  to  work  together  in  this  office.  It  isn't  up  yet,  but  — 
but  I  want  to  break  it.  I  want  you  to  let  me  off." 

"Humph!  .  .  .  Let  you  off,  eh?  ...  What  for?" 

"  That's  what  I  came  here  to  tell  you.  Grandfather,  I 
can't  stay  here  —  now.  I  want  to  enlist." 

Captain  Zelotes  did  not  answer.  His  hand  moved  upward 
and  pulled  at  his  beard. 

"  I  want  to  enlist,"  repeated  Albert.  "  I  can't  stand  it 
another  minute.  I  must.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  and 
our  promise  and  —  and  Madeline,  I  think  I  should  have 


234  THE  PORTYGEE 

joined  the  Canadian  Army  a  year  or  more  ago.  But  now 
that  we  have  gone  into  the  war,  I  can't  stay  out.  Grand 
father,  you  don't  want  me  to,  do  you?  Of  course  you 
don't." 

His  grandfather  appeared  to  ponder. 

"If  you  can  wait  a  spell,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  might  be 
able  to  fix  it  so's  you  can  get  a  chance  for  an  officer's  com 
mission.  I'd  ought  to  have  some  pull  somewheres,  seems 
so." 

Albert  sniffed  impatient  disgust.  "  I  don't  want  to  get  a 
commission  —  in  that  way,"  he  declared. 

"  Humph !  You'll  find  there's  plenty  that  do,  I  shouldn't 
wonder." 

"  Perhaps,  but  I'm  not  one  of  them.  And  I  don't  care 
so  much  for  a  commission,  unless  I  can  earn  it.  And  I  don't 
want  to  stay  here  and  study  for  it.  I  want  to  go  now.  I 
want  to  get  into  the  thing.  I  don't  want  to  wait." 

Captain  Lote  leaned  forward.     His  gray  eyes  snapped. 

"  Want  to  fight,  do  you  ?  "  he  queried. 

"You  bet  I  do!" 

"  All  right,  my  boy,  then  go  —  and  fight.  I'd  be  ashamed 
of  myself  if  I  held  you  back  a  minute.  Go  and  fight  —  and 
fight  hard.  I  only  wish  to  God  I  was  young  enough  to  go 
with  you." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AND  so,  in  this  unexpected  fashion,  came  prematurely 
the  end  of  the  four  year  trial  agreement  between 
Albert  Speranza  and  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  Of  course 
neither  Captain  Zelotes  nor  Albert  admitted  that  it  had 
ended.  Each  professed  to  regard  the  break  as  merely  tem 
porary. 

"  You'll  be  back  at  that  desk  in  a  little  while,  Al,"  said  the 
captain,  '*  addin'  up  riggers  and  tormentin'  Issy."  And  Al 
bert's  reply  was  invariably,  "  Why,  of  course,  Grand 
father." 

He  had  dreaded  his  grandmother's  reception  of  the  news 
of  his  intended  enlistment.  Olive  worshiped  her  daugh 
ter's  boy  and,  although  an  ardent  patriot,  was  by  no  means 
as  fiercely  belligerent  as  her  husband.  She  prayed  each 
night  for  the  defeat  of  the  Hun,  whereas  Captain  Lote 
was  for  licking  him  first  and  praying  afterwards.  Albert 
feared  a  scene ;  he  feared  that  she  might  be  prostrated  when 
she  learned  that  he  was  to  go  to  war.  But  she  bore  it  won 
derfully  well,  and  as  for  the  dreaded  "  scene,"  there  was 
none. 

"  Zelotes  says  he  thinks  it's  the  right  thing  for  you  to  do, 
Albert,"  she  said,  "  so  I  suppose  I  ought  to  think  so,  too. 
But,  oh,  my  dear,  do  you  really  feel  that  you  must?  I  — 
it  don't  seem  as  I  could  bear  to  ...  but  there,  I  mustn't 
talk  so.  It  ain't  a  mite  harder  for  me  than  it  is  for  thou 
sands  of  women  all  over  this  world.  .  .  .  And  perhaps  the 
government  folks  won't  take  you,  anyway.  Rachel  said  she 
read  in  the  Item  about  some  young  man  over  in  Bayport 
who  was  rejected  because  he  had  fat  feet.  She  meant  flat 
feet,  I  suppose,  poor  thing.  Oh,  dear  me,  I'm  laughin', 
and  it  seems  wicked  to  laugh  a  time  like  this.  And  when 

235 


236  THE  PORTYGEE 

I  think  of  you  goin',  Albert,  I  —  I  ...  but  there,  I  prom 
ised  Zelotes  I  wouldn't.  .  .  .  And  they  may  not  take 
you.  .  .  .  But  oh,  of  course  they  will,  of  course  they 
will !  .  .  .  I'm  goin'  tu  make  you  a  chicken  pie  for  dinner 
to-day;  I  know  how  you  like  it.  ...  If  only  they  might 
reject  you!  .  .  .  But  there,  I  said  I  wouldn't  and  I  won't." 

Rachel  Ellis's  opinion  on  the  subject  and  her  way  of  ex 
pressing  that  opinion  were  distinctly  her  own.  Albert  arose 
early  in  the  morning  following  the  announcement  of  his  de 
cision  to  enter  the  service.  He  had  not  slept  well ;  his  mind 
was  too  busy  with  problems  and  speculations  to  resign  itself 
to  sleep.  He  had  tossed  about  until  dawn  and  had  then 
risen  and  sat  down  at  the  table  in  his  bedroom  to  write 
Madeline  of  the  step  he  had  determined  to  take.  He  had 
not  written  her  while  he  was  considering  that  step.  He 
felt,  somehow,  that  he  alone  with  no  pressure  from  without 
should  make  the  decision.  Now  that  it  was  made,  and  ir 
revocably  made,  she  must  of  course  be  told.  Telling  her, 
however,  was  not  an  easy  task.  He  was  sure  she  would 
agree  that  he  had  done  the  right  thing,  the  only  thing,  but  — 

'*  It  is  going  to  be  very  hard  for  you,  dear,"  he  wrote, 
heedless  of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Fosdick's  censorious  eye  would 
see  and  condemn  the  "  dear."  "  It  is  going  to  be  hard  for 
both  of  us.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  feel  as  I  do  that  I 
couldn't  do  anything  else.  I  am  young  and  strong  and  fit 
and  I  am  an  American.  I  must  go.  You  see  it,  don't  you, 
Madeline.  I  can  hardly  wait  until  your  letter  comes  tell 
ing  me  that  you  feel  I  did  just  the  thing  you  would  wish 
me  to  do." 

He  hesitated  and  then,  even  more  regardless  of  the  cen 
sor,  added  the  quotation  which  countless  young  lovers  were 
finding  so  apt  just  then: 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more." 

So  when,  fresh  from  the  intimacy  of  this  communication 
with  his  adored  and  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  he  entered 
the  sitting-roorn  at  that  early  hour  he  was  not  overjoyed 


THE  PORTYGEE  237 

to  find  the  housekeeper  there  ahead  of  him.  And  her  first 
sentence  showed  that  she  had  been  awaiting  his  coming-. 

"  Good  mornin',  Albert,"  she  said.  "  I  heard  you  stirrin' 
'round  up  in  your  room  and  I  came  down  here  so's  you  and 
I  could  talk  together  for  a  minute  without  anybody's  dis- 
turbin'  us.  ...  Humph!  I  guess  likely  you  didn't  sleep 
any  too  well  last  night,  did  you  ?  " 

Albert  shook  his  head.  '*  Not  too  well,  Rachel,"  he  re 
plied. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Well,  I  doubt  if  there  was  too 
much  sleep  anywheres  in  this  house  last  night.  So  you're 
really  goin'  to  war,  are  you,  Albert  ?  " 

"  Yes.     If  the  war  will  let  me  I  certainly  am." 

"Dear,  dear!  .  .  .  Well,  I  — I  think  it's  what  Robert 
Penfold  would  Lave  done  if  he  was  in  your  place.  I've 
been  goin'  over  it  and  goin'  over  it  half  the  night,  myself, 
and  I've  come  to  that  conclusion.  It's  goin'  to  be  awful 
hard  on  your  grandma  and  grandfather  and  me  and  Labe, 
all  us  folks  here  at  home,  but  I  guess  it's  the  thing  you'd 
ought  to  do,  the  Penfold  kind  of  thing." 

Albert  smiled.     "  I'm  glad  you  think  so,  Rachel,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  do,  and  if  I'm  goin'  to  tell  the  truth  I  might  as 
well  say  I  tried  terrible  hard  to  find  some  good  reasons  for 
thinkin'  'twan't.  I  did  so!  But  the  only  good  reasons  I 
could  scare  up  for  makin'  you  stay  to  home  was  because 
home  was  safe  and  comf'table  and  where  you  was  goin' 
wan't.  And  that  kind  of  reasonin'  might  do  fust- rate  for 
a  passel  of  clams  out  on  the  flats,  but  it  wouldn't  be  much 
credit  to  decent,  self-respectin'  humans.  When  General 
Rolleson  came  to  that  island  and  found  his  daughter  and 
Robert  Penfold  livin'  there  in  that  house  made  out  of  pearls 
he'd  built  for  her —  Wan't  that  him  all  over!  Another 
man,  the  common  run  of  man,  would  have  been  satisfied  to 
build  her  a  house  out  of  wood  and  lucky  to  get  that,  but  no, 
nothin'  would  do  him  but  pearls,  and  if  they'd  have  been 
di'monds  he'd  have  been  better  satisfied.  Well.  .  .  . 
Where  was  I  ?  .  .  .  Oh  yes !  When  General  Rolleson  came 
there  and  says  to  his  daughter,  *  Helen,  you  come  home 


238  THE  PORTYGEE 

along  of  me/  and  she  says, 4  No,  I  shan't  leave  him/  meanin' 
Robert  Penfold,  you  understand —  When  she  says  that 
did  Robert  Penfold  say,  4  That's  the  talk !  Put  that  in  your 
pipe,  old  man,  and  smoke  it  ?  '  No,  sir,  he  didn't !  He  says, 
*  Helen,  you  go  straight  home  along  with  your  pa  and  work 
like  fury  till  you  find  out  who  forged  that  note  and  laid  it 
onto  me.  You  find  that  out/  he  says,  '  and  then  you  can 
come  fetch  me  and  not  afore/  That's  the  kind  of  man  he 
was !  And  they  sailed  off  and  left  him  behind." 

Albert  shook  his  head.  He  had  heard  only  abcut  half  of 
the  housekeeper's  story.  "  Pretty  rough  on  him,  I  should 
say,"  he  commented,  absently. 

"  I  guess  'twas  rough  on  him,  poor  thing !  But  'twas  his 
duty  and  so  he  done  it.  It  was  rough  on  Helen,  havm'  to  go 
and  leave  him,  but  'twas  rougher  still  on  him.  It's  always 
roughest,  seems  to  me,"  she  added,  "  on  the  ones  that's  left 
behind.  Those  that  go  have  somethin'  to  take  up  their 
minds  and  k^cp  'em  from  thinkin'  too  much.  The  ones 
that  stay  to  home  don't  have  much  to  do  except  think.  I 
hope  you  don't  get  the  notion  that  I  feel  your  part  of  it  is 
easy,  Al.  Only  a  poor,  crazy  idiot  could  read  the  papers 
these  days  and  feel  that  any  part  of  this  war  was  easy! 
It's  awful,  but  —  but  it  will  keep  you  too  busy  to  think, 
maybe." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,  Rachel.  I  understand  what  you 
mean." 

"  We're  all  goin'  to  miss  you,  Albert.  This  house  is  goin' 
to  be  a  pretty  lonesome  place,  I  cal'late.  Your  grandma'll 
miss  you  dreadful  and  so  will  I,  but  —  but  I  have  a  notion 
that  your  grandpa's  goin'  to  miss  you  more'n  anybody 
else." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  not  as  much  as  all  that, 
Rachel/'  he  said.  *'  He  and  I  have  been  getting  on  much 
better  than  we  used  to  and  we  have  come  to  understand 
each  other  better,  but  he  is  still  disappointed  in  me.  I'm 
afraid  I  don't  count  for  much  as  a  business  man,  you  see; 
ar-J,  besides,  Grandfather  can  never  quite  forget  that  I  am 
the  son  of  what  he  calls  a  Portygee  play  actor." 


THE  PORTYGEE  239 

Mrs.  Ellis  looked  at  him  earnestly.  '*  He's  forgettin'  it 
better  every  day,  Albert,"  she  said.  *'  I  do  declare  I  never 
believed  Capt'n  Lote  Snow  could  forget  it  the  way  he's 
doin'.  And  you  —  well,  you've  forgot  a  whole  lot,  too. 
Memory's  a  good  thing,  the  land  knows,"  she  added,  sagely, 
"  but  a  nice  healthy  f  orgetery  is  worth  consider'ble  —  some 
times  and  in  some  cases." 

Issachar  Price's  comments  on  his  fellow  employee's  de 
cision  to  become  a  soldier  were  pointed.  Issy  was  dis 
gusted. 

"  For  thunder  sakes,  Al,"  he  demanded,  "  'tain't  true  that 
you've  enlisted  to  go  to  war  and  fight  them  Germans,  is  it?  " 

Albert  smiled.     "  I  guess  it  is,  Issy,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  by  crimus !  " 

"  Somebody  had  to  go,  you  see,  Is." 

"Well,  by  crimustee!" 

"  What's  the  matter,  Issy  ?    Don't  you  approve  ?  " 

"  Approve !  No,  by  crimus,  I  don't  approve !  I  think  it's 
a  divil  of  a  note,  that's  what  I  think." 

"Why?" 

"  Why?  Who's  goin'  to  do  the  work  in  this  office  while 
you're  gone?  Labe  and  me,  that's  who;  and  I'll  do  the 
heft  of  it.  Slavin'  myself  half  to  death  as  'tis  and  now  — 
Oh,  by  crimustee!  This  war  is  a  darned  nuisance.  It 
hadn't  ought  to  be  allowed.  There'd  ought  to  be  a  law 
against  it." 

But  of  all  the  interviews  which  followed  Albert's  de 
cision  the  most  surprising  and  that  which  he  was  the  least 
like<y  to  forget  was  his  interview  with  Laban  Keeler.  It 
took  place  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  following  the 
announcement  of  his  intention  to  enlist.  All  that  day,  and 
indeed  for  several  days,  Albert  had  noted  in  the  little  book 
keeper  certain  symptoms,  familiar  symptoms  they  were  and 
from  experience  the  young  man  knew  what  they  portended. 
Laban  was  very  nervous,  his  fingers  twitched  as  he  wrote, 
occasionally  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  he  ran  his  hand  through  his  scanty  hair, 
he  was  inclined  to  be  irritable  —  that  is,  irritable  for  him. 


240  THE  PORTYGEE 

Albert  had  noted  the  symptoms  and  was  sorry.  Captain 
Zelotes  noted  them  and  frowned  and  pulled  his  beard. 

*'  Al,"  he  said  to  his  grandson,  "  if  you  can  put  off  goin' 
up  to  enlist  for  a  little  spell,  a  few  days,  I  wish  you  would. 
Labe's  gettin'  ready  to  go  on  one  of  his  vacations." 

Albert  nodded.     "  I'm  afraid  he  is,"  he  said. 

*'  Oh,  it's  as  sartin  as  two  and  two  makes  four.  I've 
lived  with  him  too  many  years  not  to  know  the  signs.  And 
I  did  hope,"  he  added,  regretfully,  "  that  maybe  he  was 
tryin'  to  break  off.  It's  been  a  good  long  spell,  an  extry 
bng  spell,  since  he  had  his  last  spree.  Ah  hum !  it's  a  pity 
a  good  man  should  have  that  weak  spot  in  him,  ain't  it? 
But  if  you  could  hang  around  a  few  more  days,  while  the  va 
cation's  goin'  on,  I'd  appreciate  it,  Al.  I  kind  of  hate  to  be 
left  here  alone  with  nobody  but  Issachar  to  lean  on.  Issy's 
a  good  deal  like  a  post  in  some  ways,  especially  in  the  make 
up  of  his  head,  but  he's  too  ricketty  to  lean  on  for  any 
length  of  time." 

That  evening  Albert  went  to  the  post-office  for  the  mail. 
On  his  way  back  as  he  passed  the  dark  corner  by  the  now 
closed  and  shuttered  moving-picture  theater  he  was  hailed 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Al,"  said  a  voice,  "  Al." 

Albert  turned  and  peered  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
theater  doorway.  In  the  summer  this  doorway  was  a  blaze 
of  light  and  gaiety;  now  it  was  cold  and  bleak  and  black 
enough.  From  the  shadow  a  small  figure  emerged  on  tip 
toe. 

"Al,"  whispered  Mr.  Keeler.  "That's  you,  ain't  it? 
Yes,  yes  —  yes,  yes,  yes  —  I  thought  'twas,  I  thought  so." 

Albert  was  surprised.  For  one  thing  it  was  most  unusual 
to  see  the  little  bookkeeper  abroad  after  nine-thirty.  His 
usual  evening  procedure,  when  not  on  a  vacation,  was  to 
call  upon  Rachel  Ellis  at  the  Snow  place  for  an  hour  or 
so  and  then  to  return  to  his  room  over  Simond's  shoe  store, 
which  room  he  had  occupied  ever  since  the  building  was 
erected. 

There  he  read,  so  people  said,  until  eleven  sharp,  when 


THE  PORTYGEE  241 

his  lamp  was  extinguished.  During  or  at  the  beginning 
of  the  vacation  periods  he  usually  departed  for  some  un 
known  destination,  destinations  which,  apparently,  varied. 
He  had  been  seen,  hopelessly  intoxicated,  in  Bayport,  in 
Ostable,  in  Boston,  once  in  Providence.  When  he  re 
turned  he  never  seemed  to  remember  exactly  where  he  had 
been.  And,  as  most  people  were  fond  of  and  pitied  him, 
few  questions  were  asked. 

"Why,  Label"  exclaimed  Albert.  "  Is  that  you? 
What's  the  matter?" 

"  Busy,  are  you,  Al  ?  "  queried  Laban.  "  In  a  hurry,  eh  ? 
Are  you  ?  In  a  hurry,  Al,  eh  ?  " 

'*  Why  no,  not  especially." 

"  Could  you  —  could  you  spare  me  two  or  three  minutes? 
Two  or  three  minutes  —  yes,  yes?  Come  up  to  my  room, 
could  you  —  could  you,  Al  ?  " 

"  Yes  indeed.     But  what  is  it,  Labe?  " 

"  I  want  to  talk.  Want  to  talk,  I  do.  Yes,  yes,  yes. 
Saw  you  go  by  and  I've  been  waitin'  for  you.  Waitin' — 
yes,  I  have  —  yes." 

He  seized  his  assistant  by  the  arm  and  led  him  across 
the  road  toward  the  shoe  store.  Albert  felt  the  hand  on 
his  arm  tremble  violently. 

*'  Are  you  cold,  Labe  ?  "  he  asked.  "  What  makes  you 
shiver  so  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  Cold  ?  No,  I  ain't  cold  —  no,  no,  no.  Come,  Al, 
come." 

Albert  sniffed  suspiciously,  but  no  odor  of  alcohol  re 
warded  the  sniff.  Neither  was  there  any  perfume  of  pep 
permint,  Mr.  Keeler's  transparent  camouflage  at  a  vaca 
tion's  beginning.  And  Laban  was  not  humming  the  refrain 
glorifying  his  "  darling  hanky-panky."  Apparently  he  had 
not  yet  embarked  upon  the  spree  which  Captain  Lote  had 
pronounced  imminent.  But  why  did  he  behave  so  queerly? 

"  I  ain't  the  way  you  think,  Al,"  declared  the  little  man, 
divining  his  thought.  "  I'm  just  kind  of  shaky  and  nervous, 
that's  all.  That's  all,  that's  all,  that's  all.  Yes,  yes.  Come, 
come!  Cornel" 


242  THE  PORTYGEE 

The  last  "  come "  burst  from  him  in  an  agony  of  im 
patience.  Albert  hastened  up  the  narrow  stairs,  Laban  lead 
ing  the  way.  The  latter  fumbled  with  a  key,  his  companion 
heard  it  rattling  against  the  keyhole  plate.  Then  the  door 
opened.  There  was  a  lamp,  its  wick  turned  low,  burning 
upon  the  table  in  the  room.  Mr.  Keeler  turned  it  up,  mak 
ing  a  trembly  job  of  the  turning.  Albert  looked  about  him; 
he  had  never  been  in  that  room  before. 
t  It  was  a  small  room  and  there  was  not  much  furniture 
in  it.  And  it  was  a  neat  room,  for  the  room  of  an  old 
bachelor  who  was  his  own  chambermaid.  Most  things 
^seemed  to  have  places  where  they  belonged  and  most  of 
them  appeared  to  be  in  those  places.  What  impressed  Al 
bert  even  more  was  the  number  of  books.  There  were 
books  every  wheie,  in  the  cheap  bookcase,  on  the  pine  shelf 
between  the  windows,  piled  in  the  corners,  heaped  on  the 
table  beside  the  lamp.  They  were  worn  and  shabby  volumes 
for  the  most  part,  some  with  but  half  a  cover  remaining, 
some  with  none.  He  picked  up  one  of  the  latter.  It  was 
Locke  on  The  Hitman  Understanding;  and  next  it,  to  his 
astonishment,  was  Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland. 

Mr.  Keeler  looked  over  his  shoulder  and,  for  an  instant, 
the  whimsical  smile  which  was  characteristic  of  him  curved 
his  lip. 

"  Philosophy,  Al,"  he  observed.  "  If  Locke  don't  suit 
you  try  the  '  mad  hatter '  feller.  I  get  consider'ble  comfort 
out  of  the  hatter,  myself.  Do  you  remember  when  the 
mouse  was  tellin'  the  story  about  the  three  sisters  that 
lived  in  the  well  ?  He  said  they  lived  on  everything  that  be 
gan  with  M.  Alice  says  *  Why  with  an  M  ? '  And  the 
hatter,  or  the  March  hare,  I  forget  which  'twas,  says  prompt, 
'  Why  not  ? '  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  why  not  ?  that's  what  he 
said.  .  .  .  There's  some  philosophy  in  that,  Al.  Why  does 
a  hen  go  across  the  road  ?  Why  not  ?  Why  is  Labe  Keeler 
a  disgrace  to  all  his  friends  and  the  town  he  lives  in  ?  Why 
not?  ...  Eh?  ...  Yes,  yes.  That's  it  — why  not?" 

He  smiled  again,  but  there  was  bitterness  and  not  humor 
in  the  smile.  Albert  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 


THE  PORTYGEE  243 


"  Why,  Labe,"  he  asked,  in  concern,  "  what  is  it?  " 

Laban  turned  away. 

"  Don't  mind,  rie,  Al,"  he  said,  hurriedty.  *'  I  mean  don't 
mind  if  I  act  funny.  I'm  —  I'm  kind  of  —  of  —  Oh,  good 
Lord  A'mighty,  don't  lock  at  me  like  that  I  ...  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Al.  I  didn't  mean  to  bark  like  a  dog  at  you.  No, 
I  didn't  —  no,  no.  Forgive  me,  will  you?  Will  yea,  Al, 
eh?" 

"  Of  course  I  will.  But  what  is  the  matter,  Labe  ?  Sit 
down  and  tell  me  about  it." 

Instead  of  sitting  the  little  bookkeeper  began  to  walk  up 
and  down. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Al,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  Don't  mind 
me.  Let  me  go  my  own  gait.  My  own  gait  —  yes,  yes. 
You  see,  Al,  I  —  I'm  tryin'  to  enlist,  same  as  you're  goin' 
to  do,  and  —  and  my  right's  begun  already.  Yes  indeed  — 
yes,  yes  —  it  has  so." 

Albert  was  more  astonished  than  ever.  There  was  no 
smell  of  alcohol,  and  Keeler  had  declared  that  he  had  not 
been  drinking;  but  — 

"  You're  going  to  enlist?"  repeated  Albert.  "  You? 
Why,  Labe,  what—" 

Laban  laughed  nervously.  *'  Not  to  kill  the  Kaiser,"  he 
replied.  "  No,  no,  not  that  —  not  exactly.  I'd  like  to, 
only  I  wouldn't  be  much  help  that  way.  But  —  but  Al,  I  — 
I  want  to  do  somethin'.  I  —  I'd  like  to  try  to  show  —  I'd 
like  to  be  an  American,  a  decent  American,  and  the  best 
way  to  begin,  seems  to  me,  is  to  try  and  be  a  man,  a  decent 
man.  Eh  ?  You  understand,  I  —  I  —  Oh,  Lord,  what  a 
mess  I  am  makin'  of  this !  I  —  I  —  Al,"  turning  and 
desperately  waving  his  hands,  "  I'm  goin'  to  try  to  swear 
off.  Will  you  help  me?" 

Albert's  answer  was  enthusiastic.  "  You  bet  I  will !  " 
he  exclaimed.  Keeler  smiled  pathetically. 

"It's  goin'  to  be  some  job,  I  cal'late,"  he  said.  "  Somo 
job,  yes,  yes.  But  I'm  goin'  to  try  it,  Al.  I  read  in  the 
papers  'tother  day  that  America  needed  every  man.  Then 
you  enlisted,  Al,— or  you're  goin'  to  enlist.  It  set  me  to 


244  THE  PORTYGEE 

thinkin'  I'd  try  to  enlist,  too.  For  the  duration  of  the  war, 
eh?  Yes,  yes." 

"  Good  for  you,  Labe !     Bully  !  " 

Laban  held  up  a  protesting  hand.  "  Don't  hurrah  yet, 
Al,"  he  said.  "  This  ain't  the  first  time  I've  tried  it.  I've 
swore  off  a  dozen  times  in  the  last  fifteen  years.  I've  prom 
ised  Fachel  and  broke  the  promise  over  and  over  again. 
Broke  my  promise  to  her,  the  best  woman  in  the  world. 
Shows  what  I  am,  what  sort  I  am,  don't  it,  Al?  Yes,  it 
does, —  yes,  yes.  And  she's  stuck  by  me,  too,  Lord  knows 
why.  Last  time  I  broke  it  I  said  I'd  never  promise  her 
again.  Bad  enough  to  be  a  common  drunk  without  bein* 
a  liar  —  yes,  yes.  But  this  is  a  little  different.  Seems  to 
me  —  seems  so." 

He  began  his  pacing  up  and  down  again. 

"  Seems  different,  somehow,"  he  went  on.  "  Seems  like  a 
new  chance.  I  want  to  do  somethin'  for  Uncle  Sam.  I  — 
I'd  like  to  try  and  enlist  for  the  duration  of  the  war  —  swear 
off  for  that  long,  anyhow.  Then,  maybe,  I'd  be  able 
to  keep  on  for  life,  you  1'now  —  duration  of  Labe 
Keeler,  eh?  Yes,  yes,  yes.  Bit  I  could  begin  for  just  the 
war,  couldn't  I  ?  Maybe,  'twould  fool  me  into  thinkin'  that 
was  easier." 

"  Of  course,  Labe.     It's  a  good  idea." 

"  Maybe ;  and  maybe  it's  a  fool  one.  But  I'm  goin'  to  try 
it.  I  am  tryin'  it,  have  been  all  day." 

He  paused,  drew  a  shaking  hand  across  his  forehead  and 
then  asked,  "  Al,  will  you  help  me  ?  I  asked  you  up  here 
hopin'  you  wrould.  Will  you,  Al,  eh  ?  Will  you  ?  " 

Albert  could  not  understand  how  he  cculd  possibly  help 
another  man  keep  the  pledge,  but  his  promise  was  eagerly 
given. 

"  Certainly,  Labe,"  he  said. 

"  Thanks  .  .  .  thank  you,  Al.  .  .  .  And  now  will  you  do 
something  for  me  —  a  favor?  " 

"'Gladly.     What  is  it?" 

Laban  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  appeared  to  be  on  the 
point  of  doing  so,  but  to  be  struggling  either  to  find  words 


THE  PORTYGEE  245 

or  to  overcome  a  tremendous  reluctance.  When  he  did 
speak  the  words  came  in  a  burst. 

"  Go  down  stairs,"  he  cried.  '*  Down  those  stairs  you 
came  up.  At  the  foot  of  'em,  in  a  kind  of  cupboard  place, 
under  'em,  there's  —  there  probably  is  a  jug,  a  full  jug.  It 
was  due  to  come  by  express  to-day  and  I  cal'late  it  did, 
cal'late  Jim  Young  fetched  it  down  this  afternoon.  I  —  I 
could  have  looked  for  myself  anc  seen  if  'twas  there,"  he 
added,  after  a  momentary  hesitation,  "  but  —  but  I  didn't 
dare  to.  I  was  r.f  raid  I'd  —  I'd  — " 

"  All  right,  Labe.  I  understand.  What  do  you  want 
me  to  do  with  it  if  it  is  there?  " 

"  I  want  you  —  I  want  you  to  —  to  — "  The  little  book 
keeper  seemed  to  be  fighting  another  internal  battle  between 
inclination  and  resolution.  The  latter  won,  for  he  finished 
with,  "  I  want  you  to  take  it  out  back  of  the  buildin'  and 
—  and  empty  it.  That's  what  I  want  you  to  do,  empty  it, 
Al,  every  drop.  .  .  .  And,  for  the  Almighty's  sake,  go 
quick,"  he  ordered,  desperately,  "  or  I'll  tell  you  not  to  be 
fore  you  start.  Go  !  " 

Albert  went.  He  fumbled  in  the  cupboard  under  the 
stairs,  found  the  jug  —  a  large  one  and  heavy  —  and  has 
tened  out  into  the  night  with  it  in  his  hands.  Behind  the 
shoe  store,  amid  a  heap  of  old  packing  boxes  and  other 
rubbish,  he  emptied  it.  The  process  was  rather  lengthy 
and  decidedly  fragrant.  As  a  finish  he  smashed  the  jug 
with  a  stone.  Then  he  climbed  the  stairs  again. 

Laban  was  waiting  for  him,  drops  of  perspiration  upon 
his  forehead. 

"  Was  —  was  it  there  "  he  demanded. 

Albert  nodded. 

"Yes,  yes.  'Twas  there,  eh?  And  did  you  —  did 
you  —  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  jug  and  all." 

*'  Thank  you,  Al  .  .  .  thank  you  ...  I  —  I've  been  try 
ing  to  muster  up  spunk  enough  to  do  it  myself,  but  — 
but  I  swan  I  couldn't.  I  didn't  dast  to  go  nigh  it  ... 
I'm  a  fine  specimen,  ain't  I,  now  ? "  he  added,  with  a 


246  THE  PORTYGEE 

twisted    smile.     "  Some    coward,    eh  ?    Yes,    yes.     Some 
coward." 

Albert,  realizing  a  little  of  the  fight  the  man  was  mak 
ing,  was  affected  by  it.  "  You're  a  brick,  Labe,"  he  de 
clared,  heartily.  "  And  as  for  being  a  coward  —  Well,  if 
I  am  half  as  brave  when  my  turn  comes  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

Laban  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know  how  scared  I'd  be 
of  a  German  bombshell,"  he  said,  "  but  I'm  everlastin'  sure 
I  wouldn't  run  from  it  for  fear  of  runnin'  towards  it,  and 
that's  how  I  felt  about  that  jug.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  yes.  I 
did  so  ...  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Al.  I  shan't  forget 
it  —  no,  no.  I  cal'late  you  can  trot  along  home  now,  if  you 
want  to.  I'm  pretty  safe — for  to-night,  anyhow.  Guess 
likely  the  new  recruit  won't  desert  afore  morning." 

But  Albert,  watching  him  intently,  refused  to  go. 

"  I'm  going  to  stay  for  a  while,  Labe,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
not  a  bit  sleepy,  really.  Let's  have  a  smoke  and  talk  to 
gether.  That  is,  of  course,  unless  you  want  to  go  to  bed." 

Mr.  Keeler  smiled  his  twisted  smile.  *'  I  ain't  crazy  to," 
he  said.  "  The  way  I  feel  now  I'd  get  to  sleep  about  week 
after  next.  But  I  hadn't  ought  to  keep  you  up,  Al." 

"  Rubbish !  I'm  not  sleepy,  I  tell  you.  Sit  down.  Have 
a  cigar.  Now  what  shall  we  talk  about  ?  How  would  books 
do  ?  What  have  you  been  reading  lately,  Labe  ?  " 

They  smoked  and  talked  books  until  nearly  two.  Then 
Lab^n  insisted  upon  his  guest  departing.  "  I'm  all  right, 
Al,"  he  declared,  earnestly.  *'  I  am  honest  —  yes,  yes,  I 
am.  I'll  go  to  sleep  like  a  lamb,  yes  indeed." 

u  You'll  be  at  the  office  in  the  morning,  won't  you,  Labe  ?  " 

The  little  bookkeeper  nodded.  "  I'll  be  there,"  he  said. 
"  Got  to  answer  roll  call  the  first  mornin'  after  enlistment. 
Yes,  yes.  I'll  be  there,  Al." 

He  was  there,  but  he  did  not  look  as  if  his  indulgence  in 
the  lamb-like  sleep  had  been  excessive.  He  was  so  pale 
and  haggard  that  his  assistant  was  alarmed. 

"  You're  not  sick,  are  you,  Labe  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 
Laban  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said.     <4  No,  I  ain't  sick.     Been  doin'  picket 


THE  PORTYGEE  247 

duty  up  and  down  the  room  since  half  past  three,  that's  all. 
Um-hm,  that's  all.  Say,  Al,  if  General  what's-his-name  — 
er  —  von  Hindenburg —  is  any  harder  scrapper  than  old 
Field  Marshal  Barleycorn  he's  a  pretty  tough  one.  Say,  Al, 
you  didn't  say  anything  about  —  about  my  —  er  —  enlistin' 
to  Cap'n  Lote,  did  you?  I  meant  to  ask  you  not  to." 

'*  I  didn't,  Labe.  I  thought  you  might  want  it  kept  a 
secret." 

"  Um-hm.  Better  keep  it  in  the  ranks  until  we  know  how 
this  first  —  er  —  skirmish  is  comin'  out.  Yes,  yes.  Better 
keep  it  that  way.  Um-hm." 

All  day  he  stuck  manfully  at  his  task  and  that  evening, 
immediately  after  supper,  Albert  went  to  the  room  over 
the  shoe  store,  found  him  there  and  insisted  upon  his  com 
ing  over  to  call  upon  Rachel.  He  had  not  intended  doing 
so. 

"  You  see,  Al,"  he  explained,  "  I'm  —  I'm  kind  of  —  er  — 
shaky  and  Rachel  will  be  worried,  I'm  afraid.  She  knows 
me  pretty  well  and  she'll  cal'late  I'm  just  gettin'  ready  to  — 
to  bust  loose  again." 

Albert  interrupted.  "  No,  she  won't,  Laban,"  he  said. 
"  We'll  show  her  that  you're  not." 

"  You  won't  say  anything  to  her  about  my  —  er  —  en 
listin',  Al?  Don't.  No,  no.  I've  promised  her  too  many 
times  —  and  broke  the  promises.  If  anything  should  come 
of  this  fight  of  mine  I'd  rather  she'd  find  it  out  for  herself. 
Better  to  surprise  her  than  to  disapp'int  her.  Yes,  yes,  lots 
better." 

Albert  promised  not  to  tell  Rachel  and  so  Laban  made 
his  call.  When  it  was  over  the  young  man  walked  home 
with  him  and  the  pair  sat  and  talked  until  after  midnight, 
just  as  on  the  previous  nighi.  The  following  evening  it 
was  much  the  same,  except  that,  as  Mr.  Keeler  pronounced 
himself  more  than  usually  "  shaky  "  and  expressed  a  desire 
to  "  keep  movin',"  they  walked  half  way  to  Orham  and 
back  before  parting.  By  the  end  of  the  week  Laban  de 
clared  the  fight  won  —  for  the  time. 

*'  You've  pulled  me  through  the  fust  tussle,  Al,"  he  said. 


248  THE  PORTYGEE 

'*  I  shan't  desert  now,  not  till  the  next  break-out,  anyhow. 
I  cal'late  it'll  get  me  harder  than  ever  then.  Harder  than 
ever  —  yes,  yes.  And  you  won't  be  here  to  help  me, 
neither." 

"  Never  mind ;  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you,  Labe.  And 
I  know  you're  going  to  win.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

"  Um-hm.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  yes.  ...  In  your  bones,  eh? 
Well,  my  bones  don't  seem  to  feel  much,  except  rheumatics 
once  in  a  while.  I  hope  yours  are  better  prophets,  but  I 
wouldn't  want  to  bet  too  high  on  it.  No,  I  wouldn't  —  no, 
no.  However,  we'll  do  our  best,  and  they  say  angels  can't 
do  any  more  —  though  they'd  probably  do  it  in  a  different 
way  .  .  .  some  different.  .  .  .  Um-hm.  .  .  .  Yes,  indeed." 

Two  letters  came  to  Albert  before  that  week  ended.  The 
first  was  from  Madeline.  He  had  written  her  of  his  inten 
tion  to  enlist  and  this  was  her  reply.  The  letter  had  evi 
dently  been  smuggled  past  the  censor,  for  it  contained  much 
which  Mrs.  Fosdick  would  have  blue-penciled.  Its  contents 
were  a  blend  of  praise  and  blame,  of  exaltation  and  de 
pression.  He  was  a  hero,  and  so  brave,  and  she  was  so 
proud  of  him.  It  was  wonderful  his  daring  to  go,  and  just 
what  she  would  have  expected  of  her  hero.  If  only  she 
might  see  him  in  his  uniform.  So  many  of  the  fellows 
she  knew  had  enlisted.  They  were  wonderfully  brave,  too, 
although  of  course  nothing  like  as  wonderful  as  her  own 
etcetera,  etcetera.  She  had  seen  some  of  them  in  their  uni 
forms  and  they  were  perfectly  splendid.  But  they  were 
officers,  or  they  were  going  to  be.  Why  wasn't  he  going 
to  be  an  officer?  It  was  so  much  nicer  to  be  an  officer. 
And  if  he  were  one  he  might  not  have  to  go  away  to  fight 
nearly  so  soon.  Officers  stayed  here  longer  and  studied,  you 
know.  Mother  had  said  son.ething  about  *'  a  common  pri 
vate,"  and  she  did  not  like  it.  But  never  mind,  she  would 
be  just  as  proud  no  matter  what  he  was.  And  she  should 
dream  of  him  and  think  of  him  always  and  always.  And 
perhaps  he  might  be  so  brave  and  wonderful  that  he  would 
be  given  one  of  those  war  crosses,  the  Croix  de  Guerre  or 
something.  She  was  sure  he  would.  But  oh,  no  matter 


THE  PORTYGEE  249 

what  happened,  he  must  not  go  where  it  was  too  dangerous. 
Suppose  he  should  be  wounded.  Oh,  suppose,  suppose  he 
should  be  killed.  What  would  she  do  then?  What  would 
become  of  her?  Must  he  go,  after  all?  Couldn't  he  stay 
at  home  and  study  or  something,  for  a  while,  you  know? 
She  should  be  so  lonely  after  he  was  gone.  And  so  fright 
ened  and  so  anxious.  And  he  wouldn't  forget  her,  would 
he,  no  matter  where  he  went?  Because  she  never,  never, 
never  would  forget  him  for  a  moment.  And  he  must  write 
every  day.  And  — 

The  letter  was  fourteen  pages  long. 

The  other  letter  was  a  surprise.  It  was  from  Helen. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Kendall  had  been  told  of  Albert's  in 
tended  enlistment  and  had  written  his  daughter. 

So  you  are  going  into  the  war,  Albert  (she  wrote).  I  am 
not  surprised  because  I  expected  you  would  do  just  that.  It  is 
what  all  of  us  would  like  to  do,  I'm  sure,  and  you  were  always 
anxious  to  go,  even  before  the  United  States  came  in.  So  I  am 
writing  this  merely  to  congratulate  you  and  to  wish  you  the 
very  best  of  good  luck.  Father  says  you  are  not  going  to  try 
for  a  commission  but  intend  enlisting  as  a  private.  I  suppose 
that  is  because  you  think  you  may  get  to  the  actual  fighting 
sooner.  I  think  I  understand  and  appreciate  that  feeling  too, 
but  are  you  sure  it  is  the  best  plan?  You  want  to  be  of  the 
greatest  service  to  the  country  and  with  your  education  and 
brains  —  This  isn't  flattery,  because  it  is  true  —  don't  you  think 
you  might  help  more  if  you  \vere  in  command  of  men?  Of 
course  I  don't  know,  being  only  a  girl,  but  I  have  been  wonder 
ing.  No  doubt  you  know  best  and  probably  it  is  settled  before 
this;  at  any  rate,  please  don't  think  that  I  intend  butting  in. 
"  Butting  in  "  is  not  at  all  a  proper  expression  for  a  school- 
marm  to  use  but  it  is  a  relief  to  be  human  occasionally.  What 
ever  you  do  I  am  sure  will  be  the  right  thing  and  I  know  all 
your  friends  are  going  to  be  very,  very  proud  of  you.  I  shall 
hear  of  you  through  the  people  at  home,  I  know,  and  I  shall 
be  anxious  to  hear.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  to  help  the 
cause,  but  I  hope  to  do  something.  A  musket  is  prohibitive  to 
females  but  the  knitting  needle  is  ours  and  I  can  handle  that, 
if  I  do  say  it.  And  I  may  go  in  for  Red  Cross  work  altogether. 
But  I  don't  count  much,  and  you  men  do,  and  this  is  your  day. 


250  THE  PORTYGEE 

Please,  for  the  sake  of  your  grandparents  and  all  your  friends, 
don't  take  unnecessary  chances.  I  can  see  your  face  as  you 
re^d  that  and  think  that  I  am  a  silly  idiot.  I'm  not  and  I  mean 
what  I  say.  You  see  I  know  you  and  I  know  you  will  not  be 
content  to  do  the  ordinary  thing.  We  want  you  to  distinguish 
yourself,  but  aLo  we  want  you  to  come  back  whole  and  sound, 
if  it  is  possible.  We  shall  think  of  you  a  great  deal.  And 
please,  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  of  the  big  work  you  are 
doing,  don't  forget  us  home  folk,  including  your  friend, 

HELEN  KENDALL. 

Alberi/s  feelings  when  he  read  this  letter  were  divided. 
He  enjoyed  hearing  from  Helen.  The  letter  was  just  like 
herself,  sensible  and  good-humored  and  friendly.  There 
were  no  hysterics  in  it  and  no  -heroics  but  he  knew  that 
no  one  except  his  grandparents  and  Rachel  and  Laban  — 
and,  of  course,  his  own  Madeline  —  would  think  of  him 
oftener  or  be  more  anxious  for  his  safety  and  welfare  than 
Helen.  He  was  glad  she  was  his  friend,  very  glad.  But 
he  almost  wished  she  had  not  written.  He  felt  a  bit  guilty 
at  having  received  the  letter.  He  was  pretty  sure  that 
Madeline  would  not  like  the  idea.  He  was  tempted  to  say 
nothing  concerning  it  in  his  next  letter  to  his  affianced, 
but  that  seemed  underhanded  and  cowardly,  so  he  told  her. 
And  in  her  next  letter  to  him  Madeline  made  no  reference  at 
all  to  Helen  or  her  epistle,  so  lie  knew  she  was  displeased. 
And  he  was  miserable  in  consequence. 

But  his  misery  did  not  last  iong.  The  happenings  which 
followed  crowded  it  from  his  mind,  and  from  Madeline's 
also,  for  that  matter.  One  morning,  having  told  no  one  ex 
cept  his  grandfather  of  his  intention,  he  took  the  morning 
train  to  Boston.  When  he  returned  the  next  day  he  was 
Uncle  Sam's  man,  sworn  in  and  accepted.  He  had  passed 
the  physical  examination  with  flying  colors  and  the  recruit 
ing  officers  expressed  themselves  as  being  glad  to  get  him. 
He  was  home  for  but  one  day  leave,  then  he  must  go  to  stay. 
He  had  debated  the  question  of  going  in  for  a  commission, 
but  those  were  the  early  days  of  our  participation  in  the 
war  and  a  Plattsburg  training  or  at  least  some  sort  of  mill- 


THE  PORTYGEE  251 

tary  education  was  almost  an  essential.  He  did  not  want  to 
wait;  as  he  had  told  his  grandfather,  he  wanted  to  fight. 
So  he  enlisted  as  a  private. 

And  when  the  brief  leave  was  over  he  took  the  train  for 
Boston,  no  longer  Alberto  Miguel  Carlos  Speranza,  South 
Harniss's  Beau  Brummel,  poet  and  Portygee,  but  Private 
Speranza,  U.S.A.  The  farewells  were  brief  and  no  one 
cried  —  much.  His  grandmome~  hugged  and  kissed  him,, 
Rachel  looked  very  much  as  if  she  wanted  to.  Laban  and 
Issachar  shook  hands  with  him. 

"Gooa  luck  to  you,  boy,"  said  Mr.  Keeler.  "  All  the 
luck  there  is." 

"  Same  to  you,  old  man,"  replied  Albert.  Then,  in  a 
lower  tone,  he  added,  "  We'll  fight  it  out  together,  eh  ?  " 

"  We'll  try.     Yes,  yes.     We'll  try.     So  long,  Al." 

Issachar  struck  the  reassuring  note.  "  Don't  fret  about 
things  in  the  office,"  he  said.  *'  I'll  look  out  for  'em  long's 
I  keep  my  health." 

"  Be  sure  and  keep  that,  Issy." 

'*  You  bet  you !  Only  thing  that's  liable  to  break  it  down 
is  over-work." 

Captain  Zelotes  said  very  little.  "  Write  us  when  you 
can,  Al,"  he  said.  '*  And  come  home  whenever  you  get 
leave." 

*'  You  may  be  sure  of  that,  Grandfather.  And  after  I 
get  to  camp  perhaps  you  can  come  and  see  me." 

"  Maybe    so.     Will    if    I    can.  .  .  .  Well,    Al,    I  ... 
I.  ...  Good  luck  to  you,  son." 

*'  Thank  you,  Grandfather." 

They  shook  hands.  Each  looked  as  if  there  was  more 
he  would  have  liked  to  say  but  found  the  saying  hard. 
Then  the  engine  bell  rang  and  the  hand.,  fell  apart.  The 
little  group  on  the  station  platform  watched  the  train  dis 
appear.  Mrs.  Snow  and  Rachel  wiped  their  eyes  with  their 
handkerchiefs.  Captain  Zelotes  gently  patted  his  wife's 
shoulder. 

"  The  team's  waitin',  Mother,"  he  said.  "  Labe'll  drive 
you  and  Rachel  home." 


252  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  But  —  but  ain't  you  comin',  too,  Zelotes  ? "  faltered 
Olive.  Her  husband  shook  his  head. 

4<  Not  now,  Mother/'  he  answered.  "  Got  to  go  back  to 
the  office." 

He  stood  for  an  instant  looking  at  the  faint  smear  of 
smoke  above  the  curve  in  the  track.  Then,  without  another 
word,  'he  strode  off  in  the  direction  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.'s 
buildings.  Issachar  Price  sniffed. 

'*  Crimus,"  he  whispered  to  Laban,  as  the  latter  passed 
him  on  the  way  to  where  Jessamine,  the  Snow  horse,  was 
tied,  "  -the  old  man  takes  it  cool,  don't  he !  I  kind  of  imag 
ined  he'd  be  sort  of  shook  up  by  Al's  goin'  off  to  war, 
Ibut  he  don't  seem  to  feel  it  a  mite." 

Keeler  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  Then  he  drew  a  long 
.breath. 

"  Is,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  it  is  a  mighty  good  thing  for  the 
Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece  that  they  ain't  alive  now." 

It  was  Issachar's  turn  to  stare.  "  Eh  ? "  he  queried. 
Ul  The  Seven  Wise  Men  of  TVhich?  Good  thing  for  'em 
they  ain't  alive?  What  kind  of  talk's  that?  Why  is  it  a 
good  thing?  " 

Laban  spoke  over  his  shoulder.  "  Because,"  he  drawled, 
*'  if  they  was  alive  now  they'd  be  so  jealous  of  you  they'd 
commit  suicide.  Yes,  they  would.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes." 

With  which  enigmatical  remark  he  left  Mr.  Price  and 
turned  his  attention  to  the  tethered  Jessamine. 

And  then  began  a  new  period,  a  new  life  at  the  Snow 
place  and  in  the  office  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  Or,  rather,  life 
in  the  old  house  and  at  the  lumber  and  hardware  office 
slumped  back  into  the  groove  in  which  it  had  run  before 
the  opera  singer's  son  was  summoned  from  the  New  York 
school  to  the  home  and  into  the  l:ves  of  his  grandparents. 
Three  people  instead  of  four  sat  down  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  at  dinner  and  at  supper.  Captain  Zelotes  walked 
alone  to  and  from  the  office.  Olive  Snow  no  longer  baked 
and  iced  large  chocolate  layer  cakes  because  a  certain  inmate 
of  her  household  was  so  fond  of  them.  Rachel  Ellis  dis- 
-cussed  Foul  Play  and  Robert  Penfold  with  no  one.  The 


THE  PORTYGEE  253 

house  was  emptier,  more  old-fashioned  and  behind  the 
times,  more  lonely  —  surprisingly  empty  and  behind  the 
times  and  lonely. 

The  daily  mails  became  matters  of  intense  interest  and 
expectation.  Albert  wrote  regularly  and  of  course  well 
and  entertainingly.  He  described  the  life  at  the  camp 
where  he  and  the  other  recruits  were  training,  a  camp  vastly 
different  from  the  enormous  military  towns  built  later  on  for 
housing  and  training  the  drafted  men.  He  liked  the  life 
pretty  well,  he  wrote,  although  it  was  hard  and  a  fellow  had 
previous  little  opportunity  to  be  lazy.  Mistakes,  too,  were 
unprofitable  for  the  maker.  Captain  Lote's  eye  twinkled 
when  he  read  that. 

Later  on  he  wrote  that  he  had  been  made  a  corporal  and 
his  grandmother,  to  whom  a  major  general  and  a  corporal 
were  of  equal  rank,  rejoiced  much  both  at  home  and  in 
church  after  meeting  was  over  and  friends  came  to  hear 
the  news.  Mrs.  Ellis  declared  herself  not  surprised.  It 
was  the  Robert  Pen  fold  in  him  coming  out,  so  she  said. 

A  month  or  two  later  one  of  Albert's  letters  contained 
an  interesting  item  of  news.  In  the  little  spare  time  which 
military  life  afforded  him  he  continued  to  write  verse  and 
stories.  Now  a  New  York  publisher,  not  one  of  the  most 
prominent  but  a  reputable  and  enterprising  one,  had  writ 
ten  him  suggesting  the  collecting  of  his  poems  and  their 
publication  in  book  form.  The  poet  himself  was,  naturally, 
elated. 

"  Isn't  it  splendid !  "  he  wrote.  "  The  best  part  of  it,  of 
course,  is  that  he  asked  to  -publish,  I  did  not  ask  him.  Please 
send  me  my  scrapbook  and  all  loose  manuscript.  When  the 
book  will  come  out  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  In  fact  it  may 
never  come  out,  we  have  not  gotten  as  far  as  terms  and 
contracts  yet,  but  I  feel  we  shall.  Send  the  scrapbook  and 
manuscript  right  away,  please." 

They  were  sent.  In  his  next  letter  Albert  was  still  en 
thusiastic. 

"  I  have  been  looking  over  my  stuff,"  he  wrote,  *'  and 
some  of  it  is  pretty  good,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so. 


254  THE  PORTYGEE 

Tell  Grandfather  that  when  this  book  of  mine  is  out  and 
selling  I  may  be  able  to  show  him  that  poetry  making  isn't 
a  pauper's  job,  after  all.  Of  course  I  don't  know  how  much 
it  will  sell  —  perhaps  not  more  than  five  or  ten  thousand  at 
first  —  but  even  at  ten  thousand  at,  say,  twenty-five  cents 
royalty  each,  would  be  twenty-five  hundred  dollars,  and 
that's  something.  Why,  Ben  Hur,  the  novel,  you  know,  has 
sold  a  million,  I  believe." 

Mrs.  Snow  and  Rachel  were  duly  impressed  by  this 
prophecy  of  affluence,  but  Captain  Zelotes  still  played  the 
skeptic. 

'*  A  million  at  twenty-five  cents  a  piece !  "  exclaimed  Olive. 
u  Why,  Zelotes,  that's  —  that's  an  awful  sight  of  money." 

Mental  arithmetic  failing  her,  she  set  to  work  with  a  pen 
cil  and  paper  and  after  a  strenuous  struggle  triumphantly 
announced  that  it  came  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars. 

"  My  soul  and  body !  "  she  cried.  "'  Two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars!  My  soul,  Zelotes!  Suppose  —  only 
suppose  Albert's  book  brought  him  in  as  much  as  that ! '' 

Her  husband  shook  his  head.  "  I  can't,  Olive,"  he  said, 
without  looking  up  from  his  newspaper.  "  My  supposer 
wouldn't  stand  the  strain." 

t(  But  it  might,  Zelotes,  it  might.  Suppose  it  did,  what 
would  you  say  then  ?  " 

The  captain  regarded  her  over  the  top  of  the  Transcript. 
"  I  shouldn't  say  a  word,  Olive,"  he  answered,  solemnly. 
"  I  should  be  down  sick  by  the  time  it  got  up  as  far  as  a 
thousand,  and  anything  past  two  thousand  you  could  use 
to  buy  my  tombstone  with.  .  .  .  There,  there,  Mother,"  lie 
added,  noticing  the  hurt  look  on  her  face,  "  don't  feel  bad. 
I'm  only  jokin'.  One  of  these  days  Al's  £oin'  to  make  a 
nice,  comf'table  livin'  sellin'  lumber  and  hardware  right  here 
in  South  Harniss.  I  can  see  that  money  in  the  oflin'.  All 
this  million  or  two  that's  comin'  from  poetry  and  such  is 
out  of  sight  in  the  fog.  It  may  be  there  but  —  humph! 
well,  I  know  where  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  is  located." 

Olive  was  not  entirely  placated.     "  I  must  say  I  think 


THE  PORTYGEE  255 

you're  awful  discouragin'  to  the  poor  boy,  Zelotes,"  she  said. 
Her  husband  put  down  his  paper. 

"  No,  no,  I  ain't,  Mother,"  he  replied,  earnestly.  "  At 
least  I  don't  mean  to  be.  Way  I  look  at  it,  this  poetry- 
makin'  and  writin'  yarns  and  that  sort  of  stuff  is  just  part 
of  the  youngster's  —  er  —  growin'  up,  as  you  might  say. 
Give  him  time  he'll  grow  out  of  it,  same  as  I  cal'late  he  will 
out  of  this  girl  business,  this  —  er  —  Madel  —  humph  —  er 
—  ahem.  .  .  .  Looks  like  a  good  day  to-morrow,  don't  it." 

He  pulled  up  suddenly,  and  with  considerable  confusion. 
He  had  kept  the  news  of  his  grandson's  infatuation  and  en 
gagement  even  from  his  wife.  No  one  in  South  Harniss 
knew  of  it,  no  one  except  the  captain.  Helen  Kendall  knew, 
but  she  was  in  Boston. 

Rachel  Ellis  picked  up  the  half  knitted  Red  Cross  mitten 
in  her  lap.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  whether  he's  right  or  you 
are,  Cap'n  Lote,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  4<  but  this  I  do 
know  -  - 1  wish  this  awful  war  was  over  and  he  was  back 
home  again." 

That  remark  ended  the  conversation.  Olive  resumed  her 
own  knitting,  seeing  it  but  indistinctly.  Her  husband  did 
not  continue  his  newspaper  reading.  Instead  he  rose  and, 
saying  something  about  cal'latin'  he  would  go  for  a  little 
walk  before  turning  in,  went  out  into  the  yard. 

But  the  war  did  not  end,  it  went  on;  so  too  did  the  en 
listing  and  training.  In  the  early  summer  Albert  came  home 
for  a  two  days'  leave.  He  was  broader  and  straighter  and 
browrsr.  His  uniform  became  him  and,  more  than  ever, 
the  eyes  of  South  Harniss's  youthful  femininity,  native  or 
imported,  followed  him  as  he  walked  the  village  streets. 
But  the  glances  were  not  returned,  not  in  kind,  that  is.  The 
new  Fosdick  home,  although  completed,  was  not  occupied. 
Mrs.  Fosdick  had,  that  summer,  decided  that  her  duties  as 
mover  in  goodness  knows  how  many  war  work  activities 
prevented  her  taking  her  "  usual  summer  rest."  Instead  she 
and  Madeline  occupied  a  rented  villa  at  Greenwich,  Con 
necticut,  coming  into  town  for  meetings  of  all  sorts.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes  had  his  own  suspicions  as  to  whether  war  work 


256  THE  PORTYGEE 

alone  was  the  cause  of  the  Fosdicks'  shunning  of  what  was 
to  have  been  their  summer  home,  but  he  kept  those  suspicions 
to  himself.  Albert  may  have  suspected  also,  but  he,  too, 
said  nothing.  The  censored  correspondence  between 
Greenwich  and  the  training  camp  traveled  regularly,  and 
South  Harniss  damsels  looked  and  longed  in  vain.  He 
saw  them,  he  bowed  to  them,  he  even  addressed  them  pleas 
antly  and  charmingly,  but  to  him  they  were  merely  incidents 
in  his  walks  to  and  from  the  post-office.  In  his  mind's  eye 
he  saw  but  one,  and  she,  alas,  was  not  present  in  the  flesh. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  camp  where,  later  on,  Captain 
Zelotes  and  Olive  visited  him.  As  they  came  away  the  cap 
tain  and  his  grandson  exchanged  a  few  significant  words. 

"  It  is  likely  to  be  almost  any  time,  Grandfather,"  said 
Albert,  quietly.  "  They  are  beginning  to  send  them  now,  as 
you  know  by  the  papers,  and  we  have  had  the  tip  that  our 
turn  will  be  soon.  So — " 

Captain  Lote  grasped  the  significance  of  the  uncompleted 
sentence. 

"I  sec,  Al,"  he  answered,  "I  see.  Well,  boy,  I  —  I  — 
Good  luck." 

"  Good  luck,  Grandfather." 

That  was  ail,  that  and  one  more  handclasp.  Our  Anglo- 
Saxon  inheritance  descends  upon  us  in  times  like  these. 
The  captain  was  silent  for  most  of  the  ride  10  the  railroad 
station. 

Then  followed  a  long,  significant  interval  during  which 
there  were  no  letters  from  the  young  soldier.  After  this  a 
short  reassuring  cablegram  from  "  Somewhere  in  France." 
"  Safe.  Well,"  it  read  and  Olive  Snow  carried  it  about 
with  her,  in  the  bosom  of  her  gown,  all  that  afternoon  and 
put  it  upon  retiring  on  her  bureau  top  so  that  she  might 
see  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

Another  long  interval,  then  letters,  the  reassuring  but  so 
tantalizingly  unsatisfactory  letters  we  American  families 
were,  just  at  that  time,  beginning  to  receive.  Reading  the 
newspapers  now  had  a  personal  interest,  a  terrifying,  dread 
ful  interest.  Then  the  packing  and  sending  of  holiday 


THE  PORTYGEE  257 

boxes,  over  the  contents  of  which  Olive  and  Rachel  spent 
much  careful  planning  and  anxious  preparation.  Then  an 
other  interval  of  more  letters,  letters  which  hinted  vaguely 
at  big  things  just  ahead. 

Then  no  letter  for  more  than  a  month. 

And  then,  one  noon,  as  Captain  Zelotes  returned  to  his 
desk  after  the  walk  from  home  and  dinner,  Laban  Keeler 
came  in  and  stood  beside  that  desk. 

The  captain,  looking  up,  saw  the  little  bookkeeper's  face. 
"  What  is  it,  Labe?  "  he  asked,  sharply. 

Laban  held  a  yellow  envelope  in  his  hand. 

"  It  came  while  you  were  gone  to  dinner,  Cap'n,"  he  said, 
"  Ben  Kelley  fetched  it  from  the  telegraph  office  himself, 
He  —  he  said  he  didn't  hardly  want  to  take  it  to  the  house. 
He  cal'lated  you'd  better  have  it  here,  to  read  to  yourself, 
fust.  That's  what  he  said  —  yes,  yes  —  that's  what  'twas, 
Cap'n." 

Slowly  Captain  Zelotes  extended  his  hand  for  the  envel 
ope.  He  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  bookkeeper's  face. 

"Ben  —  Ben,  he  told  me  what  was  in  it,  Gp'n  Lote," 
faltered  Laban.  "I  —  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,  I 
don't  —  no,  no." 

Without  a  word  the  captain  took  the  envelope  from 
Keeler's  fingers,  and  tore  it  open.  He  read  the  words  upon 
the  form  within. 

Laban  leaned  forward. 

"  For  the  Lord  sakes,  Lote  Snow,"  he  cried,  in  a  burst 
of  agony,  "  why  couldn't  it  have  been  some  darn  good-f  or- 
nothin'  like  me  instead  —  instead  of  him?  Oh,  my  God 
A'mighty,  what  a  world  this  is !  What  a  world !  " 

Still  Captain  Zelotes  said  nothing.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  yellow  sheet  of  paper  on  the  desk  before  him. 
After  a  long  minute  he  spoke. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  very  slowly,  "  well,  Labe,  there  goes  — 
there  goes  Z.  Snow  and  Company." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  telegram  from  the  War  Department  was 
brief,  as  all  such  telegrams  were  perforce  obliged 
to  be.  The  Secretary  of  War,  through  his  repre 
sentative,  regretted  to  inform  Captain  Zelotcs  Snow  that  Ser 
geant  Albert  Speranza  had  been  killed  in  action  upon  a  cer 
tain  day.  It  was  enough,  however  —  for  the  time  quite 
enough.  It  was  not  until  later  that  the  little  group  of  .South 
Harniss  recovered  sufficiently  from  the  stunning  effect  01 
those  few  words  to  think  of  seeking  particulars.  Albert 
was  dead;  what  did  it  matter,  then,  to  know  how  he  died? 

Olive  fr;re  the  shock  surprisingly  well.  Her  husband's 
fears  for  her  seemed  quite  unnecessary.  The  Captain,  know 
ing  how  she  had  idolized  her  daughter's  boy,  had  dreaded 
the  effect  which  the  news  might  have  upon  her.  She  was 
broken  down  by  it,  it  is  true,  but  she  was  quiet  and  brave  — 
astonishingly,  wonderfully  quiet  and  brave.  And  it  was  she, 
rather  than  her  husband,  who  played  the  part  of  the  com 
forter  in  those  black  hours. 

"  He's  gone,  Zelotes,"  she  said.  "  It  don't  seem  possible, 
I  know,  but  he's  gone.  And  he  died  doin'  his  duty,  same 
as  he  would  have  wanted  to  die  if  he'd  known  'twas  comin', 
poor  boy.  So  —  so  vve  must  do  ours,  I  suppose,  and  bear 
up  under  it  the  very  best  we  can.  It  won't  be  very  long, 
Zelotes,"  she  added.  "  We're  both  gettin'  old." 

Captain  Lote  made  no  reply.  He  was  standing  by  the 
window  of  the  sitting-room  looking  out  into  the  wet  back 
yard  across  which  the  wind-driven  rain  was  beating  in 
stormy  gusts. 

"  We  must  be  brave,  Zelotes,"  whispered  Olive,  trem 
ulously.  "  He'd  want  us  to  be  and  we  must  be." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  in  a  sudden  heat  of  admiration. 


THE  PORTYGEE  259 

'*  Td  be  ashamed  not  to  be  after  seein'  you,  Mother,"  he 
exclaimed. 

He  went  out  to  the  barn  a  few  moments  later  and  Rachel, 
entering  the  sitting-room,  found  Olive  crumpled  down  in 
the  big  rocker  in  an  agony  of  grief. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Mrs.  Snow,  don't,"  she  begged,  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  own  cheeks.  "  You  mustn't  give  way 
to  it  like  this;  you  mustn't." 

Olive  nodded. 

*'  I  know  it,  I  know  it,*'  she  admitted,  chokingly,  wiping 
her  eyes  with  a  soaked  handkerchief.  "  I  shan't,  Rachel, 
only  this  once,  I  promise  you.  You  see  I  can't.  I  just 
can't  on  Zelotes's  account.  I've  got  to  bear  up  for  his  sake." 

The  housekeeper  was  surprised  and  a  little  indignant. 

"  For  his  sake ! "  she  repeated.  "  For  mercy  sakes 
why  for  his  sake?  Is  it  any  worse  for  him  than  'tis  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  lots  worse.  He  won't  say  much,  of  course, 
bein'  Zelotes  Snow,  but  you  and  I  know  how  he's  planned, 
especially  these  last  years,  and  how  he's  begun  to  count  on  — 
on  Albert.  .  .  .  No,  no,  I  ain't  goin'  to  cry,  Rachel,  I  ain't 
—  I  woiSt  —  but  sayin'  his  name,  you  know,  kind  of  — " 

"  I  know,  I  know.  Land  sakes,  don't  I  know !  Ain't  I 
doin'  it  myself  ?  " 

*'  Course  you  are,  Rachel.  But  we  mustn't  when  Zelotes 
is  around.  We  women,  we  —  well,  times  like  these  women 
have  to  keep  up.  What  would  become  of  the  men  if  we 
didn't?" 

So  she  and  Rachel  "  kept  up  "  in  public  and  when  the 
captain  was  present,  and  he  for  his  part  made  no  show  of 
grief  nor  asked  for  pity.  He  was  silent,  talked  little  and 
to  the  callers  who  came  either  at  the  house  or  office  was 
uncomplaining. 

"  He  died  like  a  n::;i,"  he  told  the  Reverend  Mr.  Kendall 
•when  the  latter  called.  "  He  took  his  chance,  knowin' 
what  that  meant — " 

"  He  was  glad  to  take  it,"  interrupted  the  minister. 
"  Proud  and  glad  to  take  it." 


260  THE  PORTYGEE 

*'  Sartin.  Why  not  ?  Wouldn't  you  or  I  have  been  glad 
to  take  ours,  if  we  could  ?  " 

"  Well,  Captain  Snow,  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  resigned." 

Captain  Zelotes  looked  at  him.  "  Resigned  ?  "  he  repeated. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  resigned  ?  Not  to  sit  around  and 
whimper  is  one  thing  —  any  decent  man  or  woman  ought 
to  be  able  to  do  that  in  these  days;  but  if  by  bein'  re 
signed  you  mean  I'm  contented  to  have  it  so  —  well,  you're 
mistaken,  that's  all." 

Only  on  one  occasion,  and  then  to  Laban  Keeler,  did  he 
open  his  shell  sufficiently  to  give  a  glimpse  of  what  was 
inside.  Laban  entered  the  inner  office  that  morning  to  find 
his  employer  sitting  in  the  desk  chair,  both  hands  jammed 
in  his  trousers'  pockets  and  his  gaze  fixed,  apparently,  upon 
the  row  of  pigeon-holes.  When  the  bookkeeper  spoke  to 
him  he  seemed  to  wake  from  a  dream,  for  he  started  and 
looked  up. 

"  Cap'n  Lote,"  began  Keeler,  "  I'm  sorry  to  bother  you, 
but  that  last  carload  of  pine  was — " 

Captain  Zelotes  waved  his  hand,  brushing  the  carload  of 
pine  out  of  the  conversation. 

"  Labe,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  did  it  seem  to  you  that  I  was 
too  hard  on  him  ?  " 

Laban  did  not  understand.  "  Hard  on  him  ? "  he  re 
peated.  *' I  don't  know's  I  just  get — " 

"  Hard  on  Al.  Did  it  seem  to  you  as  if  I  was  a  little  too 
much  of  the  bucko  mate  to  the  boy?  Did  I  drive  him  too 
hard  ?  Was  I  unreasonable  ?  " 

The  answer  was  prompt.  "  No,  Cap'n  Lote,"  replied 
Keeler. 

"  You  mean  that  ?  .  .  .  Um-hm.  .  .  .  Well,  sometimes 
seems  as  if  I  might  have  been.  You  see,  Labe,  when  he 
first  come  I  —  Well,  I  cal'late  I  was  consider'ble  prejudiced 
against  him.  Account  of  his  father,  you  understand." 

*'  Sartin.     Sure.     I  understand." 

"  It  took  me  a  good  while  to  get  reconciled  to  the  Forty- 
gee  streak  in  him.  It  chafed  me  consider'ble  to  think  there 
was  a  foreign  streak  in  our  family.  The  Snows  have  been 


THE  PORTYGEE  261 

straight  Yankee  for  a  good  long  while.  .  .  .  Fact  is,  I  —  I 
never  got  really  reconciled  to  it.  I  kept  bein'  fearful  all 
the  time  that  that  streak,  his  father's  streak,  would  break 
out  in  him.  It  never  did,  except  of  course  in  his  poetry 
and  that  sort  of  foolishness,  but  I  was  always  scared  'twould, 
3"ou  see.  And  now  —  now  that  this  has  happened  I  —  I 
kind  of  fret  for  fear  that  I  may  have  let  my  notions  get 
ahead  of  my  fair  play.  You  think  I  did  give  the  boy  a 
square  deal,  Labe  ?  " 

*'  Sure  thing,  Cap'n." 

"  I'm  glad  of  hat.  .  .  .  And  —  and  you  cal'late  he 
wasn't  —  wasn't  too  prejudiced  against  me?  I  don't  mean 
along  at  first,  I  mean  this  last  year  or  two." 

Laban  hesitated.  He  wished  his  answer  to  be  not  an  over 
statement,  but  the  exact  truth. 

'*  I  think,"  he  said,  with  emphasis,  "  that  Al  was  comin' 
to  understand  you  better  every  day  he  lived,  Cap'n.  Yes, 
and  to  think  more  and  more  of  you,  too.  He  was  gettin' 
older,  for  one  thing — older,  more  of  a  man  —  yes,  yes." 

Captain  Zelotes  smiled  sadly.  *'  He  was  more  boy  than 
man  by  a  good  deal  yet,"  b~  observed.  "  Well,  Labe,  he's 
gone  and  I'm  just  beginnin'  to  realize  how  much  of  life  for 
me  has  gone  along  with  him.  He'd  been  doin'  better  here 
in  the  office  for  the  last  two  or  three  years,  seemed  to  be 
catchin'  on  to  business  better.  Didn't  you  think  so,  Labe?  " 

"  Sartin.     Yes  indeed.     Fust-rate,  fust-rate." 

"  No,  not  first-rate.  He  was  a  long  ways  from  a  busi 
ness  man  yet,  but  I  did  think  he  was  doin'  a  lot  better.  I 
could  begin  to  see  him  pilotin'  this  craft  after  I  was  called 
ashore.  Now  he's  gone  and  .  .  .  well,  I  don't  see  much 
use  in  my  fightin'  to  keep  it  afloat.  I'm  gettin'  along  in 
years  —  and  what's  the  use  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  Laban  had  ever  heard  Captain 
Zelotes  refer  to  himself  as  an  old  man.  It  shocked  him 
into  sharp  expostulation. 

'*  Nonsense !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  ain't  old  enough  for 
the  scrap  heap  by  a  big  stretch.  And  besides,  he  made  his 
fight,  didn't  he?  He  didn't  quit,  Al  didn't,  and  he  wouldn't 


262  THE  PORTYGEE 

want  us  to.  No  sir-ee,  he  wouldn't !  No,  sir,  no !  ...  I 
—  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  Cap'n  Lote.  I  —  declare  it  must 
seem  to  you  as  if  I  was  talkin'  pretty  fresh.  I  swan  I'm 
sorry.  I  am  so  ...  sorry;  yes,  yes,  I  be." 

The  captain  was  not  offended.  He  waved  the  apologies 
aside. 

"  So  you  think  it's  worth  while  my  fi^htin'  it  out,  do  you, 
Labe  ?  "  he  asked,  reflectively. 

"I  —  I  think  it's  what  you  ought  to  do  anyhow,  whether 
it's  worth  while  or  not.  The  whole  world's  fightin'.  Uncle 
Sam's  fightin'.  Al  was  iightin'.  You're  fightin*.  I'm 
fightin'.  It's  a  darn  sight  easier  to  quit,  a  darn  sight,  but  — 
but  Al  didn't  quit.  And  —  r,nd  we  mustn't  —  not  if  we 
can  help  it,"  he  added,  drawing  a  hand  across  his  fore 
head. 

His  agitation  semed  to  surprise  Captain  Zelotes.  *'  So  all 
hands  are  fightin',  are  they,  Labe,"  he  observed.  "  Well,  I 
presume  likely  there's  some  truth  in  that.  What's  your  par 
ticular  fight,  for  instance  ?  " 

The  little  bookkeeper  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  be 
fore  replying.  The  captain's  question  was  kindly  asked, 
but  there  was,  or  so  Laban  imagined,  the  faintest  trace  of 
sarcasm  in  its  tone.  That  trace  decided  him.  He  leaned 
across  the  desk. 

'*  My  particular  fight  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  You  —  you  want 
to  know  what  'tis,  Cap'n  Lote?  All  right,  all  right,  I'll 
tell  you." 

And  without  waiting  for  further  questioning  and  with, 
for  him,  surprisingly  few  repetitions,  he  told  of  his  "  en 
listment  "  to  fight  John  Barleycorn  for  the  duration  of  the 
war.  Captain  Zelotes  listened  to  the  very  end  in  silence. 
Laban  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  hand  which  shook  much 
as  it  had  done  during  the  interview  with  Albert  in  the  room 
above  the  shoe  store. 

"  There  —  there,"  he  declared,  in  conclusion,  u  that's  my 
fight,  Cap'n  Lote.  Al  and  I,  we  —  we  kind  of  went  into 
it  together,  as  you  might  say,  though  his  enlistin'  was  con- 
sider'ble  more  heroic  than  mine  —  yes  indeed,  I  should 


THE  PORTYGEE  263 

say  so  ...  yes,  yes,  yes.  But  I'm  fightin'  too  .  .  . 
er  .  .  .  I'm  fightin'  too." 

Captain  Zelotes  pulled  his  beard. 

"  How's  the  fight  goin',  Labe  ?  "  he  asked,  quietly. 

"  Well  —  well,  it's  kind  of  —  kind  of  spotty,  as  you  might 
say.  There's  spots  when  I  get  along  fairly  smooth  and 
others  when  —  well,  when  it's  pretty  rough  goin'.  I've  had 
four  hard  spots  since  Al  went  away,  but  there's  two  that 
was  the  hardest.  One  was  along  Christmas  and  New  Year 
time;  you  know  I  'most  generally  had  one  of  my  —  er  — 
spells  along  about  then.  And  t'other  is  just  now;  I  mean 
since  we  got  word  about  —  about  Al.  I  don't  suppose  likely 
you  surmised  it,  Cap'n,  but  —  but  I'd  come  to  think  a  lot 
of  that  boy  —  yes,  I  had.  Seems  funny  to  you,  I  don't 
doubt,  but  it's  so.  And  since  the  word  come,  you  know  — 
I  —  I  —  well,  I've  had  some  fight,  some  fight.  I  —  I  don't 
cal'late  I've  slept  more'n  four  hours  in  the  last  four  nights  — 
lot  more'n  that,  no.  Walkin'  helps  me  most,  seems  so.  Last 
night  I  walked  to  West  Orham." 

"  To  West  Orham !     You  walked  there  ?     Last  night?  " 

*'  Um-hm.  Long's  I  can  keep  walkin'  I  —  I  seem  to  part 
way  forget  —  to  forget  the  stuff,  you  know.  When  I'm 
alone  in  my  room  I  go  'most  crazy  —  pretty  nigh  loony.  .  .  . 
But  there !  I  don't  know  why  I  got  to  talkin'  like  this  to 
you,  Cap'n  Lote.  You've  got  your  troubles  and  — 

*'  Hold  on,  Labe.     Does  Rachel  know  about  your  fight  ?  " 

"  No.  No,  no.  Course  she  must  notice  how  long  Pve 
been  —  been  straight,  but  I  haven't  told  her.  I  want  to  be 
sure  I'm  goin'  to  win  before  I  tell  her.  She's  been  disap 
pointed  times  enough  before,  poor  woman.  .  .  .  There, 
Cap'n  Lote,  don't  let's  talk  about  it  any  more.  Please 
don't  get  the  notion  that  I'm  askin'  for  pity  or  anything 
like  that.  And  don't  think  I'm  comparin'  what  I  call  my 
fight  to  the  real  one  like  Al's.  There's  nothin'  much  heroic 
about  me,  eh?  No,  no,  I  guess  not.  Tell  that  to  look  at 
me,  eh?" 

Captain  Zelotes  rose  and  laid  his  big  hand  on  his  book 
keeper's  shoulder. 


264  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,  Labe,"  he  said.  "  I'm  proud  of 
you.  .  .  .  And,  I  declare,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  .  .  . 
Humph!  .  .  .  Well,  to-night  you  come  home  with  me  and 
have  supper  at  the  house." 

"  Now,  now,  Cap'n  Lote  — " 

*'  You  do  as  I  tell  you.  After  supper,  if  there's  any 
walkin'  to  be  done  —  if  you  take  a  notion  to  frog1  it  to 
Orham  or  San  Francisco  or  somewheres  —  maybe  I'll  go 
with  you.  Walkin'  may  be  good  for  my  fight,  too;  you 
can't  tell  till  you  try.  .  .  .  There,  don't  argue,  Labe.  I'm 
skipper  of  this  craft  yet  and  you'll  obey  my  orders;  d'you 
hear?" 

The  day  following  the  receipt  of  the  fateful  telegram  the 
captain  wrote  a  brief  note  to  Fletcher  Fosdick.  A  day  or 
two  later  he  received  a  reply.  Fosdick's  letter  was  kindly 
and  deeply  sympathetic.  He  had  been  greatly  shocked  and 
grieved  by  the  news. 

Young  Speranza  seemed  to  me,  (he  wrote)  in  my  one  short  in 
terview  with  him,  to  be  a  fine  young  fellow.  Madeline,  poor 
girl,  is  almost  frantic.  She  will  recover  by  and  by,  recovery  is 
easier  at  her  age,  but  it  will  be  very,  very  hard  for  you  and  Mrs. 
Snow.  You  and  I  little  thought  when  we  discussed  the  problem 
of  our  young  people  that  it  would  be  solved  in  this  way.  To  you 
and  your  wife  my  sincerest  sympathy.  When  you  hear  particu 
lars  concerning  your  grandson's  death,  please  write  me.  Made 
line  is  anxious  to  know  and  keeps  asking  for  them.  Mrs.  Fos 
dick  is  too  much  concerned  with  her  daughter's  health  to  write 
just  now,  but  she  joins  me  in  sympathetic  regards. 

Captain  Zelotes  took  Mrs.  Fosdick's  sympathy  with  a 
grain  of  salt.  When  he  showed  this  letter  to  his  wife  he, 
for  the  first  time,  told  her  of  the  engagement,  explaining 
that  his  previous  silence  had  been  due  to  Albert's  request 
that  the  affair  be  kept  a  secret  for  the  present.  Olive, 
even  in  the  depth  of  her  sorrow,  was  greatly  impressed  by 
the  grandeur  of  the  alliance. 

"  Just  think,  Zelotes,"  she  exclaimed,  "  the  Fosdick  girl  — 
and  our  Albert  engaged  to  marry  her !  Why,  the  Fosdicks 
are  awful  rich,  everybody  says  so.  Mrs.  Fosdick  is  head 


THE  PORTYGEE  265 

of  I  don't  know  how  many  societies  and  clubs  and  things 
in  New  York;  her  name  is  in  the  paper  almost  every  day, 
so  another  New  York  woman  told  me  at  Red  Cross  meetin' 
last  summer.  And  Mr.  Fosdick  has  been  in  politics,  way 
up  in  politics." 

"  Um-hm.  Well,  he's  reformed  lately,  I  understand,  so 
we  mustn't  hold  that  against  him." 

"  Why,  Zelotes,  what  do  you  mean  ?  How  can  you  talk 
so?  Just  think  what  it  would  have  meant  to  have  our 
Albert  marry  a  girl  like  Madeline  Fosdick." 

The  captain  put  his  arm  about  her  and  gently  patted  her 
shoulder. 

"  There,  there,  Mother,"  he  said,  gently,  u  don't  let  that 
part  of  it  fret  you." 

"  But,  Zelotes,"  tearfully,  "  I  don't  understand.  It  would 
have  been  such  a  great  thing  for  Albert." 

"  Would  it  ?  Well,  maybe.  Anyhow,  there's  no  use 
worryin'  about  it  now.  It's  done  with  —  ended  and  done 
with  .  .  .  same  as  a  good  many  other  plans  that's  been 
made  in  the  world." 

'*  Zelotes,  don't  speak  like  that,  dear,  so  discouraged.  It 
makes  me  feel  worse  than  ever  to  hear  you.  And  —  and 
he  wouldn't  want  you  to,  I'm  sure." 

"  Wouldn't  he?  No,  I  cal'late  you're  right,  Mother. 
We'll  try  not  to." 

Other  letters  came,  including  one  from  Helen.  It  was 
not  long.  Mrs.  Snow  was  a  little  inclined  to  feel  hurt  at 
its  brevity.  Her  husband,  however,  did  not  share  this  feel 
ing. 

"Have  you  read  it  carefully,  Mother?"  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  have,  Zelotes.     What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  —  well,  I  tell  you,  Mother,  I've  read  it  three 
time.  The  first  time  I  was  like  you ;  seemed  to  me  as  good 
a  friend  of  Al  and  of  us  as  Helen  Kendall  ought  to  have 
written  more  than  that.  The  second  time  I  read  it  I  begun 
to  wonder  if  —  if  — " 

"If  what,  Zelotes?" 

"Oh,  nothin',  Mother,  nothin'.     She  says  she's  comin'  to 


266  THE  PORTYGEE 

see  us  just  as  soon  as  she  can  get  away  for  a  day  or  two. 
She'll  come,  and  when  she  does  I  cal'late  both  you  and  I 
are  goin'  to  be  satisfied." 

"  But  why  didn't  she  wriie  more,  Zelotes  ?  That's  what 
I  can't  understand." 

Captain  Zelotes  tugged  at  his  beard  reflectively.  "  When 
I  wrote  Fosdick  the  other  day,"  he  said,  "  I  couldn't  write 
more  than  a  couple  of  pages.  I  was  too  upset  to  do  it. 
I  couldn't,  that's  all." 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  Albert's  grandfather." 

"  I  know.  And  Helen's  always  .  .  .  But  there,  Mother, 
don't  you  worry  about  Helen  Kendall.  I've  known  her  since 
she  was  born,  pretty  nigh,  and  /  tell  you  she's  all  right." 

Fosdick,  in  his  letter,  had  asked  for  particulars  concern 
ing  Albert's  death.  Those  particulars  were  slow  in  coming. 
Captain  Zelotes  wrote  at  onct  to  the  War  Department,  but 
received  little  satisfaction.  The  Department  would  inform 
him  as  soon  as  it  obtained  the  information.  The  name  of 
Sergeant  Albert  Speranza  had  been  cabled  as  one  of  a  list 
of  fatalities,  that  was  all. 

"  And  to  think,"  as  Rachel  Ellis  put  it,  "  that  we  never 
knew  that  he'd  been  made  a  sergeant  until  after  he  was 
gone.  He  never  had  time  to  write  it,  I  expect  likely,  poor 
boy." 

The  first  bit  of  additional  information  was  furnished  by 
the  press.  A  correspondent  of  one  of  the  Boston  dailies 
sent  a  brief  dispatch  to  his  paper  describing  the  fighting 
at  a  certain  point  on  the  Allied  front.  A  small  detach 
ment  of  American  troops  had  taken  part,  with  the  French, 
in  an  attack  on  a  village  held  by  the  enemy.  The  enthusi 
astic  reporter  declared  it  to  be  one  of  the  smartest  little  ac 
tions  in  which  our  soldiers  had  so  far  taken  part  and  was  elo 
quent  concerning  the  bravery  and  dash  of  his  fellow  country 
men.  "  They  proved  themselves,"  he  went  on,  "  and  French 
officers  with  whom  I  have  talked  are  enthusiastic.  Our 
losses,  considering  the  number  engaged,  are  said  to  be  heavy. 
Among  those  reported  as  killed  is  Sergeant  Albert  Speranza, 
a  Massachusetts  boy  whom  American  readers  will  remem- 


THE  PORTYGEE  267 

her  as  a  writer  of  poetry  and  magazine  fiction.  Sergeant 
Speranza  is  said  to  have  led  his  company  in  the  capture  of 
the  village  and  to  have  acted  with  distinguished  bravery." 

The  editor  of  the  Boston  paper  who  first  read  this  dis 
patch  turned  to  his  associate  at  the  next  desk. 

"  Speranza  ?  .  .  .  Speranza  ?  "  he  said  aloud.  "  Say, 
Jim,  wasn't  it  Albert  Speran:  a  who  wrote  that  corking  poem 
we  published  after  the  Lusitania  was  sunk  ?  " 

Jim  looked  up.  *'  Yes,"  he  said.  "  He  has  written  a  lot 
of  pretty  good  stuff  since,  too.  Why?" 

"He's  just  been  killed  in  action  over  there,  so  Conway 
says  in  this  dispatch." 

"So?  .  .  .  Humph!  .  .  .  Any  particulars?" 

"  Not  yet.  *  Distinguished  bravery,'  according  to  Con- 
way.  Couldn't  we  have  something  done  in  the  way  of  a 
Sunday  special?  He  was  a  Massachusetts  fellow." 

"We  might.  We  haven't  a  photograph,  have  we?  If 
we  haven't,  perhaps  we  can  get  one." 

The  photograph  was  obtained  —  bribery  and  corruption 
of  the  Orham  photographer  —  and,  accompanied  by  a  re 
print  of  the  Lusitania  poem,  appeared  in  the  "  Magazine 
Section  "  of  the  Sr.nday  newspaper.  With  these  also  ap 
peared  a  jhort  notice  of  the  young  poet's  death  in  the  service 
of  his  country. 

That  was  the  beginning.  At  the  middle  of  that  week 
Conway  sent  another  dispatch.  The  editor  who  received 
it  took  it  into  the  office  of  the  Sunday  editor. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  **  here  are  more  particulars  about  fiat 
young  chap  Speranza,  the  one  we  printed  the  special  about 
last  Sunday.  He  must  have  been  a  corker.  Wnen  his  lieu 
tenant  was  put  out  of  business  by  a  shrapnel  this  Speranza 
chap  rallied  the  men  and  jammed  'em  through  the  Huns 
like  a  hot  knife  through  butter.  Killed  the  German  officer 
and  took  three  prisoners  all  by  himself.  Carried  his 
wounded  lieutenant  to  the  rear  on  his  shoulders,  too.  Then 
he  went  back  into  the  ruins  to  get  another  wounded  man 
and  was  blown  to  slivers  by  a  hand  grenade.  He's  been 
cited  in  orders  and  will  probably  be  decorated  by  the 


268  THE  PORTYGEE 

French  —  that  is,  his  memory  will  be.  Pretty  good  for  a 
poet,  I'd  say.  No  '  lilies  and  languors  '  about  that,  eh?  " 

The  Sunday  editor  nodded  approval. 

"  Great  stuff !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Let  me  have  that  dis 
patch,  will  you,  when  you've  finished.  I've  just  discovered 
that  this  young  Speranza's  father  was  Speranza,  the  opera 
baritone.  You  remember  him?  And  his  mother  was  the 
daughter  of  a  Cape  Cod  sea  captain.  How's  that?  Spain, 
Cape  Cod,  opera,  poetry  and  the  Croix  de  Guerre.  And 
have  you  looked  at  the  young  fellow's  photograph?  Com 
bination  of  Adonis  and  '  Romeo,  where  art  thou.'  I've  had 
no  less  than  twenty  letters  about  him  and  his  poetry  already. 
Next  Sunday  we'll  have  a  special  "  as  is."  Where  can  I  get 
hold  of  a  lot  of  his  poems?" 

The  "  special  as  was  "  occupied  an  entire  page.  A  re 
porter  had  visited  South  Harniss  and  had  taken  photographs 
of  the  Snow  place  and  some  of  its  occupants.  Captain 
Zelotes  had  refused  to  pose,  but  there  was  a  view  of  the 
building  and  yards  of  "  Z.  Snow  and  Co."  with  the  pic 
turesque  figure  of  Mr.  Issachar  Price  tastefully  draped 
against  a  pile  of  boards  in  the  right  foreground.  Issy  had 
been  a  find  for  the  reporter;  he  supplied  the  later  with 
every  fact  concerning  Albert  which  he  could  remember  and 
some  that  he  invented  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Ac 
cording  to  Issy,  Albert  was  "  a  fine,  fust-class  young  feller. 
Him  and  me  was  like  brothers,  as  you  might  say.  When 
he  got  into  trouble,  or  was  undecided  or  anything,  he'd 
come  to  me  for  advice  and  I  always  gave  it  i:o  him.  Land, 
yes !  I  always  give  to  Albert.  No  matter  how  busy  I  was 
I  always  stopped  work  to  help  him  out."  The  reporter 
added  that  Mr.  Price  stopped  work  even  while  speaking  of 
it. 

The  special  attracted  the  notice  of  other  newspaper  editors. 
This  skirmish  in  which  Albert  had  taken  so  gallant  d  part 
was  among  the  first  in  which  our  soldiers  had  participated. 
So  the  story  was  copied  and  recopied.  The  tale  of  the 
death  of  the  young  poet,  the  "  happy  warrior,"  as  some 
writer  called  him,  was  spread  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 


THE  PORTYGEE  269 

Pacific  and  from  Canada  to  the  Gulf.  And  just  at  this 
psychological  moment  the  New  York  publisher  brought  out 
the  long  deferred  volume.  The  Lances  of  Dawn,  Being  the 
Collected  Poems  of  Albert  M.  C.  Speranza,  such  was  its 
title. 

Meanwhile,  or,  rather,  within  the  week  when  the  Lances 
of  Dawn  flashed  upon  the  public,  Captain  Zelotes  received 
a  letter  from  the  captain  of  Albert's  regiment  in  France. 
It  was  not  a  long  letter,  for  the  captain  was  a  busy  man, 
but  it  was  the  kindly,  sympathetic  letter  of  one  who  was, 
literally,  that  well-advertised  combination,  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman.  It  told  of  Albert's  promotion  to  the  rank  of 
sergeant,  "  a  promotion  which,  had  the  boy  been  spared, 
would,  I  am  sure,  have  been  the  forerunner  of  others." 
It  told  of  that  last  fight,  the  struggle  for  the  village, 
of  Sergeant  Speranza's  coolness  and  daring  and  of  his 
rush  back  into  the  throat  of  death  to  save  a  wounded  com 
rade. 

The  men  tell  me  they  tried  to  stop  him  (wrote  the  captain). 
He  was  himself  slightly  wounded,  he  had  just  brought  Lieu 
tenant  Stacey  back  to  safety  and  the  enemy  at  that  moment  was 
again  advancing  through  the  village.  But  he  insisted  upon  go 
ing.  The  man  he  was  trying  to  rescue  was  a  private  in  his  com 
pany  and  the  pair  were  great  friends.  So  he  started  back  alone, 
although  several  followed  him  a  moment  later.  They  saw  him 
enter  the  ruined  cottage  where  his  friend  lay.  Then  a  party  of 
the  enemy  appeared  at  the  corner  and  flung  grenades.  The  en 
tire  side  of  the  cottage  which  he  had  just  entered  was  blown 
in  and  the  Germans  passed  on  over  it.  causing  our  men  to  fall 
back  temporarily.  We  retook  the  place  within  half  an  hour. 
Private  Kelly's  body  —  it  was  Private  Kelly  whom  Sergeant 
Speranza  was  attempting  to  rescue  —  was  found  and  another, 
badly  disfigured,  which  was  at  first  supposed  to  be  that  of  your 
grandson.  But  this  body  was  subsequently  identified  as  that  of 
a  private  named  Hamlin  who  was  killed  when  the  enemy  first 
charged.  Sergeant  Speranza's  body  is  still  missing,  but  is 
thought  to  be  buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  the  cottage.  These 
ruins  were  subsequently  blown  into  further  chaos  by  a  high  ex 
plosive  shell. 


270  THE  PORTYGEE 

Then  followed  more  expressions  of  regret  and  sympathy 
and  confirmation  of  the  repor4-  ...cerning  citation  and  the 
war  cross.  Captain  Lote  read  the  letter  at  first  alone  in  his 
private  office.  Then  he  brought  it  home  and  gave  it  to  his 
vrife  to  read.  Afterward  he  read  it  aloud  to  Mrs.  Ellis  and 
to  Laban,  who  was  making  his  usual  call  in  the  Snow 
kitchen. 

When  the  reading  was  ended  Labe  was  the  first  to  speak. 
His  eyes  were  shining. 

"  Godfreys  !  "  he  exclaimed.     4t  Godfreys,  Cap'n  Lote !  " 

The  captain  seemed  to  understand. 

"  You're  right,  Labe,"  he  said.  '*  The  boy's  made  us 
proud  of  him.  .  .  .  Prouder  than  some  of  us  are  of  our 
selves,  I  cal'late,"  he  added,  rising  and  moving  toward  the 
door. 

"  Sho,  sho,  Cap'n,  you  mustn't  feel  that  way.     No,  no." 

"Humph!  .  .  .  Labe,  I  presume  likely  if  I  was  a  pious 
man,  one  of  the  old-fashioned  kind  of  pious,  and  believed 
the  Almighty  went  out  of  his  way  to  get  square  with  any 
human  bein'  th?.t  made  a  mistake  or  didn't  do  the  right  thing 
—  if  I  believed  that  I  might  rigger  all  this  was  a  sort  of 
special  judgment  on  me  for  my  prejudices,  eh?  " 

Mr.  Keeler  was  much  disturbed. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  Cap'n  Lote !  "  he  protested.  "  You 
ain't  fair  to  yourself.  You  never  treated  Al  anyhow  but 
just  honest  and  fair  and  square.  If  he  was  here  now  in 
stead  of  layin'  dead  over  there  in  France,  poor  feller,  he'd 
say  so,  too.  Yes,  he  would.  Course  he  would." 

The  captain  made  no  reply,  but  walked  from  the  room. 
Laban  turned  to  Mrs.  Ellis. 

"  The  old  man  broods  over  that,"  he  said.  "  I  wish.  .  .  . 
Eh?  What's  the  matter,  Rachel?  What  are  you  lookin1 
at  me  like  that  for?" 

The  housekeeper  was  leaning  forward  in  her  chair,  her 
cheeks  flushed  and  her  hands  clenched. 

"  How  do  you  know  he's  dead  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  mysteri 
ous  whisper. 

"  Eh  ?    How  do  I  know  who's  dead  ?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  271 

"  Albert.     How  do  you  know  he's  dead?  " 

Laban  stared  at  her. 

"How  do  I  know  he's  dead!"  he  repeated.  "How  do 
I  know—" 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  impatiently ;  "  that's  what  I  said.  Don't 
run  it  over  three  or  four  times  more.  How  do  you  know 
Albert's  dead?" 

"Why,  Rachel,  what  kind  of  talk's  that?  I  know  he's 
dead  because  the  newspapers  say  so,  and  the  War  Depart 
ment  folks  say  so,  and  this  cap'n  man  in  France  that  was 
right  there  at  the  time,  he  says  so.  All  hands  say  so  —  yes, 
yes.  So  don't—" 

"  Sh !  I  don't  care  if  they  all  say  so  ten  times  over. 
How  do  they  know?  They  ain't  found  him  dead,  have  they  ? 
The  report  from  the  War  Department  folks  was  sent  when 
they  thought  that  other  body  was  Albert's.  Now  they 
know  that  wasn't  him.  Where  is  he?" 

''"  Why,  under  the  ruins  of  that  cottage.  'Twas  all  blown 
to  pieces  and  most  likely  — " 

"Um-hm.  There  you  are!  '  Most  likely!'  Well,  I 
ain't  satisfied  with  most  likelys.  I  want  to  know.3' 

"  But  —  but—" 

'*  Laban  Keeler,  until  they  find  his  body  I  shan't  believe 
Albert's  dead." 

"  But,  Rachel,  you  mustn't  try  to  deceive  yourself  that 
way.  Don't  you  see  — " 

"  No,  I  don't  see.  Labe,  when  Robert  Penfold  was  lost 
and  gone  for  all  them  months  all  hands  thought  he  was 
dead,  didn't  they?  But  he  wasn't;  he  was  on  that  island 
lost  in  the  middle  of  all  creation.  What's  to  hinder  Albert 
bein'  took  prisoner  by  those  Germans?  They  came  back 
to  that  cottage  place  after  Albert  was  left  there,  the  cap'n 
says  so  in  that  letter  Cap'n  Lote  just  read.  What's  to  hin 
der  their  carryin'  Al  off  with  'em?  Eh?  Wliat's  to  hin 
der?" 

'*  Why  —  why,  nothin',  I  suppose,  in  one  way.  But  nine 
chances  out  of  ten  — " 

"  That  leaves  one  chance,  don't  it.     I  ain't  goin'  to  give 


272  THE  PORTYGEE 

up  that  chance  for  —  for  my  boy.  I  —  I  —  Oh,  Labe, 
I  did  think  so  much  of  him." 

"  I  know,  Rachel,  I  know.  Don't  cry  any  more  than  you 
can  help.  And  if  it  helps  you  any  to  make  believe  —  I  mean 
to  keep  on  hopin'  he's  alive  somewheres  —  why,  do  it.  It 
won't  do  any  harm,  I  suppose.  Only  I  wouldn't  hint  such 
a  thing  to  Cap'n  Lote  or  Olive." 

"  Of  course  not,"  indignantly.  "  I  ain't  quite  a  fool,  I 
hope.  .  .  .  And  I  presume  likely  you're  right,  Laban.  The 
poor  boy  is  dead,  probably.  But  I  —  I'm  goin'  to  hope  he 
isn't,  anyhow,  just  to  get  what  comfort  I  can  from  it.  And 
Robert  Penfold  did  come  back,  you  know." 

For  some  time  Laban  found  himself,  against  all  reason, 
asking  the  very  question  Rachel  had  asked:  Did  they 
actually  know  that  Albert  was  dead?  But  as  the  months 
passed  and  no  news  came  he  ceased  to  ask  it.  Whenever 
he  mentioned  the  subject  to  the  housekeeper  her  invariable 
reply  was  :  "  But  they  haven't  found  his  body,  have  they  ?  " 
She  would  not  give  up  that  tenth  c'hance.  As  she  seemed 
to  find  some  comfort  in  it  he  did  not  attempt  to  convince 
her  of  its  futility. 

And,  meanwhile  The  Lances  of  Dawn,  Being  the  Collected 
Poems  of  Albert  M.  C.  Speranza  was  making  a  mild  sensa 
tion.  The  critics  were  surprisingly  kind  to  it.  The  story  of 
the  young  author's  recerf  and  romantic  death,  of  his  gal 
lantry,  his  handsome  features  displayed  in  newspapers  every 
where,  all  these  helped  toward  the  generous  welcome  ac 
corded  the  little  volume.  If  the  verses  were  not  inspired  — 
why,  they  were  at  least  entertaining  and  pleasant.  And 
youth,  high-hearted  youth  sang  on  every  page.  So  the  re 
viewers  were  kind  and  forbearing  to  th^  poems  themselves, 
and,  for  the  sake  of  the-  dead  soldier-poet,  were  often  en 
thusiastic.  The  book  sold,  for  a  volume  of  poems  it  sold 
very  well  indeed. 

At  the  Snow  place  in  South  Harniss  pride  and  tears 
mingled.  Olive  read  the  verses  over  and  over  again,  and 
wept  as  she  read.  Rachel  Ellis  learned  many  of  them  by 
heart,  but  she,  too,  wept  as  she  recited  them  to  herself  or  to 


THE  PORTYGEE  273 

Laban.  In  the  little  bookkeeper's  room  above  Simond's  shoe 
store  The  Lances  of  Dawn  lay  under  the  lamp  upon  the  cen 
ter  table  as  before  a  shrine.  Captain  Zelotes  read  the  verses. 
Also  he  read  all  the  newspaper  notices  which,  sent  to  the 
family  by  Helen  Kendall,  were  promptly  held  before  his 
eyes  by  Olive  and  Rachel.  He  read  the  publisher's  adver 
tisements,  he  read  the  reviews.  And  the  more  he  read  the 
more  puzzled  and  bewildered  he  became. 

" 1  can't  understand  it,  Laban,"  he  confided  in  deep  dis 
tress  to  Mr.  Keeler.  "  I  give  in  I  don't  know  anything  at 
all  about  this.  I'm  clean  off  soundin's.  If  all  this  news 
paper  stuff  is  so  Albert  was  right  all  the  time  and  I  was 
plumb  wrong.  Here's  this  feller,"  picking  up  a  clipping 
from  the  desk,  "  callin'  him  a  genius  and  '  a  gifted  youth ' 
and  the  land  knows  what.  And  every  day  or  so  I  get  a  letter 
from  somebody  I  never  heard  of  tellin'  me  what  a  comfort 
to  'em  those  poetry  pieces  of  his  are.  I  don't  understand 
it,  Labe.  It  worries  me.  If  all  this  is  true  then  —  then 
I  was  all  wrong.  I  tried  to  keep  him  from  makin'  up 
poetry,  Labe  —  tried  to,  I  did.  If  what  these  folks  say  is 
so  somethin'  ought  to  be  done  to  me.  I  —  I  —  by  thunder, 
I  don't  know's  I  hadn't  ought  to  be  hung !  .  .  .  And  yet  — 
and  yet,  I  did  what  I  thought  was  right  and  did  it  for  the 
boy's  sake  .  .  .  And  —  and  even  now  I  —  I  ain't  sartin  I 
was  wrong.  But  if  I  wasn't  wrong  then  this  is  ...  Oh, 
I  don't  know,  I  don't  know  !  " 

And  not  only  in  South  Harniss  were  there  changes  of 
heart.  In  New  York  City  and  at  Greenwich  where  Mrs. 
Fosdick  was  more  than  ever  busy  with  war  work,  there 
were  changes.  When  the  newspaper  accounts  of  young 
Speranza's  heroic  death  were  first  published  the  lady  paid 
little  attention  to  them.  Her  daughter  needed  all  her  care 
just  then  —  all  the  care,  that  is,  which  she  could  spare  from 
her  duties  as  president  of  this  society  and  corresponding 
secretary  of  that.  If  her  feelings  upon  hearing  the  news 
could  have  been  analyzed  it  is  probable  that  their  larger 
proportion  would  have  been  a  huge  sense  of  relief.  That 
problem  was  solved,  at  all  events.  She  was  sorry  for  poor 


274  THE  PORTYGEE 

Madeline,  of  course,  but  the  dear  child  was  but  a  child  and 
would  recover. 

But  as  with  more  and  more  intensity  the  limelight  of 
publicity  was  turned  upon  Albert  Speranza's  life  and  death 
and  writing,  the  wife  of  the  Honorable  Fletcher  Fosdick 
could  not  but  be  impressed.  As  head  of  several  so-called 
literary  societies,  societies  rather  neglected  since  the  out 
break  of  hostilities,  she  had  made  it  her  business  to  hunt 
literary  lions.  Recently  it  was  true  that  military  lions  — 
Major  Vermicelli  of  the  Roumanian  light  cavalry,  or  Pri 
vate  Drinkwater  of  the  Tank  Corps  —  were  more  in  demand 
than  Tagores,  but,  as  Mrs.  Fosdick  read  of  Sergeant  Sper 
anza's  perils  and  poems,  it  could  not  help  occurring  to  her 
that  here  was  a  lion  both  literary  and  martial.  Decidedly 
she  had  not  approved  of  her  daughter's  engagement  to 
that  lion,  but  now  the  said  lion  was  dead,  which  rendered 
him  a  perfectly  harmless  yet  not  the  less  fascinating 
animal.  And  then  appeared  The  Lances  of  Dawn  and  Mrs. 
Fosdick's  friends  among  the  elect  began  to  read  and  talk 
about  it. 

It  was  then  that  the  change  came.  Those  friends,  one 
by  one,  individuals  judiciously  chosen,  were  told  in  strict 
confidence  of  poor  Madeline's  romantic  love  affair  and  its 
tragic  ending.  These  individuals,  chosen  judiciously  as  has 
been  stated,  whispered,  also  in  strict  confidence,  the  tale  to 
other  friends  and  acquaintances.  Mrs.  Fosdick  began  to  re 
ceive  condolences  on  her  daughter's  account  and  on  her  own. 
Soon  she  began  to  speak  publicly  of  u  My  poor,  dear  daugh 
ter's  dead  fiance.  Such  a  loss  to  American  literature. 
Sheer  genius.  Have  you  read  the  article  in  the  Timepiece? 
Madeline,  poor  girl,  is  heartbroken,  naturally,  but  very- 
proud,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  grief.  So  are  we  all,  I 
assure  you." 

She  quoted  liberally  from  The  Lances  of  Dawn.  A  copy 
specially  bound,  lay  upon  her  library  table.  Albert's  photo 
graph  in  uniform,  obtained  from  the  Snows  by  Mr.  Fosdick, 
who  wrote  for  it  at  his  wife's  request,  stood  beside  it.  To 
callers  and  sister  war  workers  Mrs.  Fosdick  gave  details 


THE  PORTYGEE  275 

of  the  hero's  genius,  his  bravery,  his  devotion  to  her  daugh 
ter.     It  was  all  so  romantic  and  pleasantly  self-advertising 

—  and  perfectly  safe. 

Summer  came  again,  the  summer  of  1918.  The  news 
papers  now  were  gravely  personal  reading  to  millions  of 
Americans.  Our  new  army  was  trying  its  metal  on  the 
French  front  and  with  the  British  against  the  vaunted  Hin- 
denburg  Line.  The  transports  were  carrying  thousands 
on  every  trip  to  join  those  already  *'  over  there/'  In  South 
Harniss  and  in  Greenwich  and  New  York,  as  in  every  town 
and  city,  the  ordinary  summer  vacations  and  playtime  oc 
cupations  were  forgotten  or  neglected  and  war  charities  and 
war  labors  took  their  place.  Other  soldiers  than  Sergeant 
Speranza  were  the  newspaper  heroes  now,  other  books  than 
The  Lances  of  Da-urn  talked  about. 

As  on  the  previous  summer  the  new  Fosdick  cottage  was 
not  occupied  by  its  owners.  Mrs.  Fosdick  was  absorbed 
by  her  multitudinous  war  duties  and  her  husband  was  at 
Washington  giving  his  counsel  and  labor  to  the  cause. 
Captain  Zelotes  bought  to  his  last  spare  dollar  of  each  suc 
cessive  issue  of  Liberty  Bonds,  and  gaye  that  dollar  to  the 
Red  Cross  or  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. ;  Laban  and  Rachel  did  like 
wise.  Even  Issachar  Price  bought  Thrift  Stamps  and  ex 
hibited  them  to  anyone  who  would  stop  long  enough  to 
look. 

'*  By  crimus,"  declared  Issy,  "  I'm  makin'  myself  poor 
helpin'  out  the  gov'ment,  but  let  'er  go  and  darn  the  Kaiser, 
that's  my  motto.  But  they  ain't  all  like  me.  I  was  down 
to  the  drug  store  yesterday  and  old  man  Burgess  had  the 
cheek  to  tell  me  I  owed  him  for  some  cigars  I  bought  —  er 

—  last  fall,  seems  to  me  'twas.     I  turned  right  around  and 
looked  at  him  — '  I've  got  my  opinion,'  says  I,  '  of  a  man 
that  thinks  of  cigars  and  such  luxuries  when  the  country 
needs  every  cent.     What  have  you  got  that  gov'ment  poster 
stuck  up  on  your  wall  for  ?  '  says  I.     '  Read  it,'  I  says.     *  It 
says'     '"Save!     Save!     Save!'"     don't     it?    All     right 
That's  what  I'm  doin'.     I  am  savin'.'     Then  when  he  was 
thinkin'  of  somethin'  to  answer  back  I  walked  right  out  and 


276  THE  PORTYGEE 

left  him.  Yes  sir,  by  crimustee,  I  left  him  right  where  he 
stood!" 

August  came;  September  —  the  Hindenburg  Line  was 
broken.  Each  day  the  triumphant  headlines  in  the  papers 
were  big  and  black  and  also,  alas,  the  casualty  lists  on  the 
inside  pages  long  and  longer.  Then  October.  The  arm 
istice  was  signed.  It  was  the  end.  The  Allied  world  went 
wild,  cheered,  danced,  celebrated.  Then  it  sat  back,  think 
ing,  thanking  God,  solemnly  trying  to  realize  that  the  killing 
days,  the  frightful  days  of  waiting  and  awful  anxiety,  were 
over. 

And  early  in  November  another  telegram  came  to  the 
office  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  This  time  it  came,  not  from  the 
War  Department  direct,  but  from  the  Boston  headquarters 
of  the  American  Red  Cross. 

And  this  time,  just  as  on  the  day  when  the  other  fateful 
telegram  came,  Laban  Keeler  was  the  first  of  the  office 
regulars  to  learn  its  contents.  Ben  Kelley  himself  brought 
this  message,  just  as  he  had  brought  that  telling  of  Albert 
Speranza's  death.  And  the  usually  stolid  Ben  was  greatly 
excited.  He  strode  straight  from  the  door  to  the  book 
keeper's  desk. 

"Is  the  old  man  in,  Labe?"  he  whispered,  jerking  his 
head  toward  the  private  office,  the  door  of  which  happened 
to  be  shut. 

Laban  looked  at  him  over  his  spectacles.  "  Cap'n  Lote, 
you  mean  ?  "  he  asked.  *'  Yes,  he's  in.  But  he  don't  want 
to  be  disturbed  —  no,  no.  Goin'  to  write  a  couple  of  impor 
tant  letters,  he  said.  Important  ones.  .  .  .  Um-hm.  What 
is  it,  Ben  ?  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

Kelley  did  not  answer  that  question.  Instead  he  took  a 
telegram  from  his  pocket. 

"Read  it,  Labe,"  he  whispered.  "Read  it.  It's  the 
darndcst  news  —  the  —  the  darnedest  good  news  ever  you 
heard  in  your  life.  It  don't  seem  as  if  it  could  be,  but,  by 
time,  I  guess  'tis.  Anyhow,  it's  from  the  Red  Cross  folks 
and  they'd  ought  to  know." 

Laban  stared  at  the  telegram.     It  was  not  in  the  usual 


THE  PORTYGEE  277 

envelope;  Kelley  had  been  too  anxious  to  bring  it  to  its 
destination  to  bother  with  an  envelope. 

"  Read  it,"  commanded  the  operator  again.  "  See  if  you 
think  Cap'n  Lote  ought  to  have  it  broke  easy  to  him  or  —  or 
what?  Read  it,  I  tell  you.  Lord  sakes,  it's  no  secret!  I 
hollered  it  right  out  loud  when  it  come  in  over  the  wire  and 
the  gang  at  the  depot  heard  it.  They  know  it  and  it'll  be 
all  over  town  in  ten  minutes.  Read  it." 

Keeler  read  the  telegram.     His  florid  cheeks  turned  pale. 

"  Good  Lore  above !  "  he  exclaimed,  under  his  breath. 

"Eh?  I  bet  you!  Shall  I  take  it  to  the  cap'n?  Eh? 
What  do  you  think?" 

"Wait.  .  .  .  Wait  .  .  .  I  — I—  My  soul!  My  soul! 
Why  .  .  .  It's — it's  true.  .  .  .  And  Rachel  always 
said  .  .  .  Why,  she  was  right  ...  I  ..." 

From  without  came  the  sound  of  running  feet  and  a  series 
of  yells. 

"  Labe !  Labe !  "  shrieked  Issy.  "  Oh,  my  crimus !  .  .  . 
Labe!" 

He  burst  into  the  office,  his  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open 
and  his  hands  waving  wildly. 

"  Labe !  Labe !  "  he  shouted  again.  "  Have  you  heard 
it?  Have  you?  It's  true,  too.  He's  alive!  He's  alive! 
He's  alive ! " 

Laban  sprang  from  his  stool.  "  Shut  up,  Is !  "  he  com 
manded.  "Shut  up!  Hold  on!  Don't- 

"  But  he's  alive,  I  tell  you !  He  ain't  dead !  He  ain't 
never  been  dead !  Oh,  my  crimus !  .  .  .  Hey,  Cap'n  Lote ! 
He's  alive!" 

Captain  Zelotes  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  pri 
vate  office.  The  noise  had  aroused  him  from  his  letter  writ 
ing. 

"  Who's  alive  ?  What's  the  matter  with  you  this  time, 
Is?  "he  demanded. 

"  Shut  up,  Issy,"  ordered  Laban,  seizing  the  frantic  Mr. 
Price  by  the  collar.  "  Be  still!  Wait  a  minute." 

"Be  still?  What  do  I  want  to  be  still  for?  I  cal'late 
Cap'n  Lote'll  holler  some,  too,  when  he  hears.  He's  alive, 


278  THE  PORTYGEE 

Cap'n  Lote,  I  tell  ye.  Let  go  of  me,  Labe  Keeler!  He's 
alive!" 

"Who's  alive?  What  is  it?  Labe,  you  answer  me. 
Who's  alive?" 

Laban's  thoughts  were  still  in  a  whirl.  He  was  still  shak 
ing  from  the  news  the  telegraph  operator  had  brought. 
Rachel  Ellis  was  at  that  moment  in  his  mind  and  he  an 
swered  as  she  might  have  done. 

"Er  —  er  — Robert  Penfold,"  he  said. 

"  Robert  Penfold !    What  — " 

Issachar  could  hold  in  no  longer. 

"Robert  Pt.ifold  nawchin'!"  he  shouted.  "Who  in 
thunder's  he  ?  'Tain't  Robert  Penfold  nor  Robert  Penholder 
neither.  It's  Al  Speranza,  that's  who  'tis.  He  ain't  killed, 
Cap'n  Lote.  He's  alive  and  he's  been  alive  all  the  time." 

Kelley  stepped  forward. 

"  Looks  as  if  'twas  so,  Cap'n  Snow,"  he  said.  "  Here's 
the  telegram  from  the  Red  Cross." 


CHAPTER  XV- 

THERE  was  nothing  miraculous  about  it.  That  is 
to  say,  it  was  no  more  of  a  miracle  than  hundreds 
of  similar  cases  in  the  World  War.  The  papers 
of  those  years  were  constantly  printing  stories  of  men  over 
whose  supposed  graves  funeral  sermons  had  been  preached, 
to  whose  heirs  insurance  payments  had  been  made,  in  whose 
memory  grateful  communities  had  made  speeches  and  de 
livered  eulogiums  —  the  papers  were  telling  of  instance 
after  instance  of  those  men  being  discovered  alive  and  in 
the  flesh,  as  casuals  in  some  French  hospital  or  as  inmates 
of  German  prison  camps. 

Rachel  Zllis  had  asked  what  was  to  hinder  Albert's  hav 
ing  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Germans  and  carried  off 
by  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact  nothing  had  hindered  and  that 
was  exactly  what  had  happened.  Sergeant  Speranza, 
wounded  by  machine  gun  fire  and  again  by  the  explosion 
of  the  grenade,  was  found  in  the  ruins  of  the  cottage  when 
the  detachment  of  the  enemy  captured  it.  He  was  con 
scious  and  able  to  speak,  so  instead  of  being  bayonetted 
was  carried  to  the  rear  where  he  might  be  questioned  con 
cerning  the  American  forces.  The  questioning  was  most 
unsatisfactory  to  the  Prussian  officers  who  conducted  it. 
Albert'  fainted,  recovered  consciousness  and  fainted  again. 
So  at  last  the  Yankee  swine  was  left  to  die  or  get  well  and 
his  Prussian  interrogators  went  about  other  business,  the 
business  of  escaping  capture  themselves.  But  when  they 
retreated  the  few  prisoners,  mostly  wounded  men,  were 
taken  with  them. 

Albert's  recollections  of  the  next  few  days  were  hazy 
and  very  doubtful.  Pain,  pain  and  more  pain.  Hours  and 
hours  —  they  seemed  like  years  —  of  jolting  over  rough 
roads.  Pawing-over  by  a  fat,  bearded  surgeon,  who  may 

279 


280  THE  PORTYGEE 

not  have  been  intentionally  brutal,  but  quite  as  likely  may. 
A  great  desire  to  die,  punctuated  by  occasional  feeble  spurts 
of  wishing  to  live.  Then  more  surgical  man-handling,  more 
jolting  —  in  freight  cars  this  time  —  a  slow,  miserable  re 
covery,  nurses  who  hated  their  patients  and  treated  them  as 
if  they  did,  then,  a  prison  camp,  a  German  prison  camp. 
Then  horrors  and  starvation  and  brutality  lasting  many 
months.  Then  fever. 

He  was  wandering  in  that  misty  land  between  this  world 
and  the  next  when,  the  armistice  having  been  signed,  an 
American  Red  Cross  representative  found  him.  In  the  in 
terval  between  fits  of  delirium  he  told  this  man  his  name 
and  regiment  and,  later,  the  name  of  his  grandparents. 
When  it  seemed  sure  that  he  was  to  recover  the  Red  Cross 
representative  cabled  the  facts  to  this  country.  And,  still 
later,  those  facts,  or  the  all-important  fact  that  Sergeant  Al 
bert  M.  C.  Speranza  was  not  dead  but  alive,  came  by  tele 
graph  to  Captain  Zelotes  Snow  of  South  Harniss.  And,  two 
months  after  that,  Captain  Zelotes  himself,  standing  on  the 
wharf  in  Boston  and  peering  up  at  a  crowded  deck  above 
him,  saw  the  face  of  his  grandson,  that  face  which  he  had 
never  expected  to  see  again,  looking  eagerly  down  upon 
him. 

A  few  more  weeks  and  it  was  over.  The  brief  interval 
of  camp  life  and  the  mustering  out  were  things  of  the  past. 
Captain  Lote  and  Albert,  seated  in  the  train,  were  on  their 
way  down  the  Cape,  bound  home.  Home !  The  word  had 
a  significance  now  which  it  never  had  before.  Home! 

Albert  drew  a  long  breath.  "  By  George !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  By  George,  Grandfather,  this  looks  good  to  me ! " 

It  might  not  have  looked  as  good  to  another  person.  It 
was  raining,  the  long  stretches  of  salt  marsh  were  wind 
swept  and  brown  and  bleak.  In  the  distance  Cape  Cod 
Bay  showed  gray  and  white  against  a  leaden  sky.  The 
drops  ran  down  the  dingy  car  windows. 

Captain  Zelotes  understood,  however.     He  nodded. 

"  It  used  to  look  good  to  me  when  I  was  bound  home 
after  a  v'yage,"  he  observed.  "  Well,  son,  I  cal'late  your 


THE  PORTYGEE  281 

grandma  and  Rachel  are  up  to  the  depot  by  this  time  waitin' 
for  you.  We  ain't  due  for  pretty  nigh  an  hour  yet,  but  I'd 
be  willin'  to  bet  they're  there." 

Albert  smiled.     "  My,  I  do  want  to  see  them !  "  he  said. 

'*  Shouldn't  wonder  a  mite  if  they  wanted  to  see  you, 
boy.  Well,  I'm  kind  of  glad  I  shooed  that  reception  com 
mittee  out  of  the  way.  I  presumed  likely  you'd  rather  have 
your  first  day  home  to  yourself  —  and  us." 

"  I  should  say  so !  Newspaper  reporters  are  a  lot  of 
mighty  good  fellows,  but  I  hope  I  never  see  another  one.  .  .  . 
That's  rather  ungrateful,  I  know,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
"  but  I  mean  it  —  just  now." 

He  had  some  excuse  for  meaning  it.  The  death  of  Al 
bert  Speranza,  poet  and  warrior,  had  made  a  newspaper 
sensation.  His  resurrection  and  return  furnished  material 
for  another.  Captain  Zelotes  was  not  the  only  person  to 
meet  the  transport  at  the  pier ;  a  delegation  of  reporters  was 
there  also.  Photographs  of  Sergeant  Speranza  appeared 
once  more  in  print.  This  time,  however,  they  were  snap 
shots  showing  him  in  uniform,  likenesses  of  a  still  handsome, 
but  less  boyish  young  man,  thinner,  a  scar  upon  his  right 
cheek,  and  the  look  in*  his  eyes  more  serious,  and  infinitely 
older,  the  look  of  one  who  had  borne  much  and  seen  more. 
The  reporters  found  it  difficult  to  get  a  story  from  the  re 
turned  hero.  He  seemed  to  shun  the  limelight  and  to  be 
almost  unduly  modest  and  retiring,  which  was  of  itself, 
had  they  but  known  it,  a  transformation  sufficiently  mar 
velous  to  have  warranted  a  special  "  Sunday  special." 

"  Will  not  talk  about  himself,"  so  one  writer  headed  his 
article.  Gertie  Kendnck,  with  a  brand-new  ring  upon  her 
engagement  finger,  sniffed  as  she  read  that  headline  to  Sam 
Thatcher,  who  had  purchased  the  ring.  "  Al  Speranza  won't 
talk  about  himself  !  "  exclaimed  Gertie.  "  Well,  it's  the  first 
time,  then.  No  wonder  they  put  it  in  the  paper." 

But  Albert  would  not  talk,  claiming  that  he  had  done  noth 
ing  worth  talking  about,  except  to  get  himself  taken  prisoner 
in  almost  his  first  engagement.  "  Go  and  ask  some  of  the 
other  fellows  aboard  here,"  he  urged.  "They  have  been 


282  THE  PORTYGEE 

all  through  it."  As  he  would  not  talk  the  newspaper  men 
were  obliged  to  talk  for  him,  which  they  did  by  describing 
his  appearance  and  his  manner,  and  by  rehashing  the  story 
of  the  fight  m  the  French  village.  Also,  of  course,  they  re- 
published  some  of  his  verses.  The  Lances  of  Dawn  ap 
peared  in  a  special  edition  in  honor  of  its  author's  reappear 
ance  on  this  earth. 

"  Yes  sir,"  continued  Captain  Zelotes,  "  the  reception  com 
mittee  was  consider'ble  disappointed.  They'd  have  met  ycu 
with  the  Orham  band  if  they'd  had  their  way.  I  told  'em 
you'd  heard  all  the  band  music  you  wanted  in  camp,  I 
guessed  likely,  and  you'd  rather  come  home  quiet.  There 
was  goin'  to  be  some  speeches,  too,  but  I  had  them  put  off." 

"  Thanks,  Grandfather.' 

"  Um-hm.  I  had  a  notion  you  wouldn't  hanker  for 
speeches.  If  you  do  Issy'll  make  one  for  you  'most 
any  time.  Ever  since  you  got  into  the  papers  Issy's  been 
swellin'  up  like  a  hot  pop-over  with  pride  because  you  and 
he  was  what  he  calls  chummies.  All  last  summer  Issachar 
spent  his  evenin's  hangin'  around  the  hotel  waitin'  for  the 
next  boarder  to  mention  your  name.  Sure  as  one  did  Is 
was  ready  for  him.  *  Know  him  ? '  he'd  sing  out.  '  Did 
I  know  Al  Speranza?  Me?  Well,  now  say! — '  And  so 
on,  long  as  the  feller  would  listen.  I  asked  him  once  if  he 
ever  told  any  of  'em  how  you  ducked  him  with  the  bucket 
of  water.  He  didn't  think  I  knew  about  that  and  it  kind  of 
surprised  him,  I  judged." 

Albert  smiled.  "  Laban  told  you  about  it,  I  suppose,"  he 
said.  "  What  a  kid  trick  that  was,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

The  captain  turned  his  head  and  regarded  him  for  an 
instant.  The  old  twinkle  was  in  his  eye  when  he  spoke. 

"  Wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that  now,  Al,  I  presume 
likely  ?  "  he  said.  "  Feel  a  good  deal  older  now,  eh  ?  " 

Albert's  answer  was  seriously  given. 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty,"  he  re 
plied. 

"  Humph !  .  .  .  Well,  I  wouldn't  feel  like  that.  If  you're 
a  hundred  and  fifty  I  must  be  a  little  older  than  Methuselah 


THE  PORTYGEE  283 

was  in  his  last  years.  I'm  feelin'  younger  to-day,  younger 
than  I  have  for  quite  a  spell.  Yes,  for  quite  a  spell." 

His  grandson  put  a  hand  on  his  knee.  "  Good  for  you, 
Grandfather,"  he  said.  "  Now  tell  me  more  about  Labe. 
Do  you  know  I  think  the  old  chap's  sticking  by  his  pledge 
is  the  bulliest  thing  I've  heard  since  I've  been  home." 

So  they  talked  of  Laban  and  of  Rachel  and  of  South 
Harniss  happenings  until  the  train  drew  up  at  the  platform 
of  that  station.  And  upon  that  pki.form  stepped  Albert  to 
feel  his  grandmother's  arms  about  him  and  her  voice, 
tremulous  with  happiness,  at  his  ear.  And  behind  her 
loomed  Mrs.  Ellis,  her  ample  face  a  combination  of  smiles 
and  tears,  "  all  sunshine  and  fair  weather  down  below  but 
rainin'  steady  up  aloft,"  as  Captain  Lote  described  it  after 
wards.  And  behind  her,  like  a  foothill  in  the  shadow  of 
a  mountain,  was  Laban.  And  behind  Laban —  No,  that 
is  a  mistake  —  in  front  of  Laban  and  beside  Laban  and  in 
Tront  of  and  beside  everyone  else  when  opportunity  presented 
was  Issachar.  And  Issachar's  expression  and  bearings  were 
wonderful  to  see.  A  stranger,  and  there  were  several 
strangers  amid  the  group  at  the  station,  might  have  gained 
the  impression  that  Mr.  Price,  with  of  course  a  very  little 
help  from  the  Almighty,  was  responsible  for  everything. 

"  Why,  Issy !  "  exclaimed  Albert,  when  they  shook  hands. 
"  You're  here,  too,  eh  ?  " 

Mr.  Price's  already  protuberant  chest  swelled  still  fur 
ther.  His  reply  had  the  calmness  of  finality. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Issy,  "  I'm  here.  *  Who's  goin'  to  look 
out  for  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  if  all  hands  walks  out  and  leaves 
Jem  ?  '  Labe  says.  '  I  don't  know,'  says  I,  *  and  I  don't  care. 
I'm  goin'  to  that  depot  to  r^eet  Al  Speranzy  and  if  Z.  Snow 
and  Co.  goes  to  pot  while  I'm  gone  I  can't  help  it.  I  have 
sacrificed/  I  says,  k  and  I  stand  ready  to  sacrifice  pretty  nigh 
everything  for  my  business,  but  there's  limits  and  this  is  one 
of  'em.  I'm  goin'  acrost  to  that  depot  to  meet  him,'  says  I, 
'  and  don't  you  try  to  stop  me,  Labe  Keeler.' " 

"Great  stuff,  Is!"  said  Albert,  with  a  laugh.  "What 
did  Labe  say  to  that?" 


284  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  What  was  there  for  him  to  say  ?  He  could  see  I  meant 
it.  Course  he  ho^e  out  some  of  his  cheap  talk,  but  it  didn't 
amount  to  nothin'.  Asked  if  I  wan't  goin'  to  put  up  a  sign 
sayin'  when  I'd  be  back,  so's  to  ease  the  customers'  minds. 
*  I  don't  know  when  I'll  be  back,'  I  says.  '  All  right,'  says 
he,  *  put  that  on  the  sign.  That'll  ease  'em  still  more/ 
Just  cheap  talk  'twas.  He  thinks  he's  funny,  but  I  don't 
pay  no  attention  to  him." 

Others  came  to  shake  hands  and  voice  a  welcome.  The 
formal  reception,  that  with  the  band,  had  been  called  off  at 
Captain  Zelotes's  request,  but  the  informal  one  was,  in 
spite  of  the  rain,  which  was  now  much  less  heavy,  quite  a 
sizable  gathering. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Kendall  held  his  hand  for  a  long  time 
and  talked  much,  it  seemed  to  Albert  that  he  had  aged 
greatly  since  they  last  met.  He  wandered  a  bit  in  his  re 
marks  and  repeated  himself  several  times. 

"  The  poor  old  gentleman's  f  ailin'  a  good  deal,  Albert," 
said  Mrs.  Snow,  as  they  drove  home  together,  he  and  his 
grandparents,  three  on  the  seat  of  the  buggy  behind  Jessa 
mine.  "  His  sermons  are  pretty  tiresome  nowadays,  but  we 
put  up  with  'em  because  he's  been  with  us  so  long.  .  .  . 
Ain't  you  squeezed  'most  to  death,  Albert?  You  two  big 
men  and  me  all  mashed  together  on  this  narrow  seat.  It's 
lucky  I'm  small.  Zelotes  ought  to  get  a  two-seated  car 
riage,  but  he  won't." 

"  Next  thing  I  get,  Mother,"  observed  the  captain,  "  will 
be  an  automobile.  I'll  stick  to  the  old  mare  here  as  long  as 
she's  able  to  navigate,  but  when  she  has  to  be  hauled  out  of 
commission  I'm  goin'  to  buy  a  car.  I  believe  I'm  pretty 
nigh  the  last  man  in  this  county  to  drive  a  horse,  as  'tis. 
Makes  me  feel  like  what  Sol  Dadgett  calls  a  cracked  tea 
pot  —  a  '  genuine  antique.'  One  of  these  city  women 
will  be  collectin'  me  some  of  these  days.  Better  look  out, 
Mother." 

Olive  sighed  happily.  "  It  does  me  good  to  hear  you  joke 
again,  Zelotes,"  she  said.  "  He  didn't  joke  much,  Albert, 
while  —  when  we  thought  you  —  you  — " 


THE  PORTYGEE  285 

Albert  interrupted  in  time  to  prevent  the  fhreatened 
shower. 

"  So  Mr.  Kendall  is  not  well,"  he  said.  *'  I'm  very  sorry 
to  hear  it." 

"  Of  course  you  would  be.  You  and  he  used  to  be  so 
friendly  when  Helen  was  home.  Oh,  speakin'  of  Helen, 
she  is  comin'  home  in  a  fortni't  or  three  weeks,  so  I  hear. 
She's  goin'  to  give  up  her  teachin'  and  come  back  to  be  com 
pany  for  her  father.  I  suppose  she  realizes  he  needs  her, 
but  it  must  be  a  big  sacrifice  for  her,  givin'  up  the  good 
position  she's  got  now.  She's  such  a  smart  girl  and  such  a 
nice  one.  Why,  she  came  to  see  us  after  the  news  came  — 
the  bad  news  —  and  she  was  so  kind  and  so  good.  I  don't 
know  what  we  should  have  done  without  her.  Zelotes  says 
so  too,  don't  you,  Zelotes  ?  " 

Her  husband  did  not  answer.  Instead  he  said :  "  Well, 
there's  home,  Al.  Rachel's  there  ahead  of  us  and  dinner's 
on  the  way,  judgin'  by  the  smoke  from  the  kitchen  chimney. 
How  does  the  old  place  look  to  you,  boy  ?  " 

Albert  merely  shook  his  head  and  drew  a  long  breath,  but 
his  grandparents  seemed  to  be  quite  satisfied. 

There  were  letters  and  telegrams  awaiting  him  on  the 
table  in  the  sitting-room.  Two  of  the  letters  were  post 
marked  from  a  town  on  the  Florida  coast.  The  telegram 
also  was  from  that  same  town. 

"  /  had  one  of  those  things,"  observed  Captain  Zelotes,  al 
luding  to  the  telegram.  4<  Fosdick  sent  me  one  of  those  long 
ones,  night-letters  I  believe  they  call  'em.  He  wants  me  to 
tell  you  that  Mrs.  Fosdick  is  better  and  that  they  cal'late  to 
be  in  New  York  before  very  long  and  shall  expect  you  there, 
Of  course  you  knew  that,  Al,  but  I  presume  likely  the  main 
idea  of  the  telegram  was  to  help  say,  *  Welcome  home '  to 
you,  that's  all." 

Albert  nodded.  Madeline  and  her  mother  had  been  in 
Florida  all  winter.  Mrs.  Fosdick's  health  was  not  good. 
She  declared  that  her  nerves  had  given  way  under  her  fright 
ful  responsibilities  during  the  war.  '  There  was,  although 
it  seems  almost  sacrilege  to  make  such  a  statement,  a  certain 


286  THE  PORTYGEE 

similarity  between  Mrs.  Fletcher  Fosdick  and  Issachar  Price. 

The  telegram  was,  as  his  grandfather  surmised,  an  ex 
pression  of  welcome  and  of  regret  that  the  senders  could 
not  be  there  to  share  <n  the  reception.  The  two  letters 
which  accompanied  it  he  put  in  his  pocket  to  read  later  on, 
when  alone.  Somehow  he  felt  that  the  first  hours  in  the 
old  house  belonged  exclusively  to  his  grandparents. 
Everything  else,  even  Madeline's  letters,  must  take  second 
place  for  that  period. 

Dinner  was,  to  say  the  least,  an  ample  meal.  Rachel  and 
Olive  had,  as  Captain  Lote  said,  "  laid  themselves  out "  on 
that  dinner.  It  began  well  and  continued  well  and  ended 
best  of  all,  for  the  dessert  was  one  of  which  Albert  was  es 
pecially  fond.  They  kept  pressing  him  to  eat  until  Laban, 
who  was  an  invited  guest,  was  moved  to  comment. 

"  Humph !  "  observed  Mr.  Keeler.  "  I  knew  'twas  the 
reg'lar  program  to  kill  the  fatted  calf  when  the  prodigal 
got  home,  but  I  see  now  it's  the  proper  caper  to  fat  up  the 
prodigal  to  take  the  critter's  place.  No,  no,  Rachel,  I'd 
like  fust-rate  to  eat  another  bushel  or  so  to  please  you,  but 
some^hin'  —  that  still,  small  voic~  we're  always  readin'  about, 
or  somethin'  —  seems  to  tell  me  'twouldn't  be  good  jedg- 
ment.  .  .  .  Um-hm.  .  .  .  'Twouldn't  be  good  jedgment. 
.  .  .  Cal'late  it's  right,  too.  .  .  .  Yes .  yes,  yes. 

"  Now,  Cap'n  Lote,"  he  added,  r-.  they  rose  from  the  table, 
"  you  stay  right  to  home  here  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  I'll 
.hustle  back  to  the  office  and  see  if  Issy's  importance  has 
bust  his  b'iler  for  him.  So-L»ng,  Al.  See  you  pretty  soon. 
Got  some  things  to  talk  about,  you  and  I  have.  .  .  .  Yes, 
yes." 

Later,  when  Rachel  was  in  the  kitchen  with  the  dishes, 
Olive  left  the  sitting  room  and  reappeared  with  triumph 
written  large  upon  her  face.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  mys 
terious  envelope  and  in  the  other  a  book.  Albert  recognized 
that  book.  It  was  his  own,  The  Lances  of  Dawn.  It  was 
no  novelty  to  him.  When  first  the  outoide  world  and  he  had 
reopened  communication,  copies  of  that  book  had  been  sent 
him.  His  pub1isher  had  sent  them,  Madeline  had  sent  them, 


THE  PORT YGEE  287 

his  grandparents  had  sent  them,  comrades  had  sent  them, 
nurses  and  doctors  and  newspaoer  men  had  brought  them. 
No,  The  Lances  of  Dawn  was  not  a  novelty  to  its  author. 
But  he  wondered  what  was  in  the  envelope. 

Mrs.  Snow  enlightened  him.  "  You  sit  right  down  now, 
Albert,"  she  said.  **  Sit  right  down  and  listen  because  I've 
got  scmethin'  to  tell  you.  Yes,  and  somethin'  to  show  you, 
too.  Here!  Strp  now,  Zelotes!  You  can't  run  away. 
You've  got  to  sit  down  and  look  on  and  listen,  too." 

Captain  Zelotes  smiled  resignedly.  There  was,  or  so  it 
seemed  to  his  grandson,  an  odd  expression  on  his  face.  He 
looked  pleased,  but  not  altogether  pleased.  However,  he 
obeyed  his  wife's  orders  and  sat. 

"  Stop,  look  and  listen,"  he  observed.  "  Mother,  you 
sound  like  a  railroad  crossin'.  All  right,  here  I  am.  Al, 
the  society  of  *  What  did  I  tell  you '  is  goin'  to  have  a 
meetin'." 

His  wife  nodded.  "  Well,"  she  said,  triumphantly,  "  what 
did  I  tell  you?  Wasn't  I  right?  " 

The  captain  pulled  his  beard  and  nodded. 

"  Right  as  right  could  be,  Mother,"  he  admitted.  "  Your 
figgers  was  a  few  hundred  thousand  out  of  the  way,  maybe,, 
but  barrin'  that  you  was  perfectly  right." 

*'  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so  for  once  in  your  life. 
Albert,"  holding  up  the  envelope,  "  do  you  know  what  this 
is?" 

Albert,  much  puzzled,  admitted  that  he  did  not.  His 
grandmother  put  down  the  book,  opened  the  envelope  and 
took  from  it  a  slip  of  paper. 

"  And  can  you  guess  what  this  is  ?  "  she  asked.  Albert 
could  not  guess. 

"  It's  a  check,  that's  what  it  is.  It's  the  first  six  months' 
royalties,  that's  what  they  call  'em,  on  that  beautiful  book 
of  yours.  And  how  much  do  you  suppose  'tis  ?  " 

Albert  shook  his  head.  *'  Twenty-five  dollars  ?  "  he  sug 
gested  jokingly. 

"  Twenty-five  dollars  !  It's  over  twenty-five  hundred  dol 
lars.  It's  twenty-eight  hundred  and  forty-three  dollars  and 


288  THE  PORTYGEE 

sixty-five  cents,  that's  what  it  is.  Think  of  it!  Almost 
three  thousand  dollars!  And  Zelotes  prophesied  that 
'twouldn't  be  more  than — " 

Her  husband  held  up  his  hand.  "  Sh-sh !  Sh-sh,  Mother," 
he  said.  4<  Don't  get  started  on  what  I  prophesied  or  we 
won't  be  through  till  doomsday.  I'll  give  in  right  off  that 
I'm  the  worst  prophet  since  the  feller  that  h'isted  the  *  Fair 
and  Dry '  signal  the  day  afore  Noah's  flood  begun.  You 
see,"  he  explained,  turning  to  Albert,  "  your  grandma  fig- 
gered  out  that  you'd  probably  clear  about  half  a  million  on 
that  book  of  poetry,  Al.  I  cal'lated  'twan't  likely  to  be 
much  more'n  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand,  so — " 

"  Why,  Zelotes  Snow !     You  said  — " 

"  Yes,  yes.  So  I  did,  Mother,  so  I  did.  You  was  right 
and  I  was  wrong.  Twenty-eight  hundred  ain't  exactly  a 
million,  Al,  but  it's  a  darn  sight  more  than  I  ever  cal'lated 
you'd  make  from  that  book.  Or  'most  anybody  else  ever 
made  from  any  book,  fur's  that  goes,"  he  added,  with  a 
shake  of  the  head.  "  I  declare,  I  —  I  don't  understand  it 
yet.  And  a  poetry  book,  too !  Who  in  time  buys  'em  all  ? 
Eh?" 

Albert  was  looking  at  the  check  and  the  royalty  state 
ment. 

"  So  this  is  why  I  couldn't  get  any  satisfaction  from  the 
publisher,"  he  observed.  '*  L  wrote  him  two  or  three  times 
about  my  royalties,  and  he  put  me  off  each  time.  I  began 
to  think  there  weren't  any." 

Captain  Zelotes  smiled.  '*  That's  your  grandma's  doin's," 
he  observed.  "  The  check  came  to  us  a  good  while 
ago,  when  we  thought  you  was  —  was  —  well,  when  we 
thought  — " 

"  Yes.  Surely,  I  understand,"  put  in  Albert,  to  help  him 
out. 

'*  Yes.  That's  when  'twas.  And  Mother,  she  was  so 
proud  of  it,  because  you'd  earned  it,  Al,  that  she  kept  it  and 
kept  it,  showin'  it  to  all  hands  and  —  and  so  on.  And  then 
when  we  found  out  you  wasn't  —  that  you'd  be  home  some 
time  or  other  —  why,  then  she  wouldn't  let  me  put  it  in  the 


THE  PORTYGEE  289 

bank  for  you  because  she  wanted  to  give  it  to  you  herself. 
That's  what  she  said  was  the  reason.  I  presume  likely  the 
real  one  was  that  she  wanted  to  flap  it  in  my  face  every 
time  she  crowed  over  my  bad  prophesying  which  was  about 
three  times  a  day  and  four  on  Sundays." 

"  Zelotes  Snow,  the  idea !  " 

"  All  right,  Mother,  all  right.  Anyhow,  she  got  me  to 
write  your  publisher  man  and  ask  him  not  to  give  you  any 
satisfaction  about  those  royalties,  so's  she  could  be  the  fust 
one  to  paralyze  you  with  'em.  And,"  with  a  frank  outburst, 
"if  you  ain't  paralyzed,  Al,  I  own  up  that  /  am.  Three 
thousand  poetry  profits  beats  me.  /  don't  understand  it." 

His  wife  sniffed.  "  Of  course  you  don't,"  she  declared. 
"  But  Albert  does.  And  so  do  I,  only  I  think  it  ought  to 
have  been  ever  and  ever  so  much  more.  Don't  you,  your 
self,  Albert?" 

The  author  of  The  Lances  of  Dawn  was  still  looking  at 
the  statement  of  its  earnings. 

"Approximately  eighteen  thousand  sold  at  fifteen  cents 
royalty,"  he  observed.  "  Humph  !  Well,  I'll  be  hanged !  " 

"  But  you  said  it  would  be  twenty-five  cents,  not  fifteen," 
protested  Olive.  "  In  your  letter  when  the  book  was  first 
talked  about  you  said  so." 

Albert  smiled.  "  Did  I  ?  "  he  observed.  "  Well,  I  said  a 
good  many  things  in  those  days,  I'm  afraid.  Fifteen  cents 
for  a  first  book,  especially  a  book  of  verse,  is  fair  enough, 
I  guess.  But  eighteen  thousand  sold!  That  is  what  gets 
me." 

"  You  mean  you  think  it  ought  to  be  a  lot  more.  So  do 
I,  Albert,  and  so  does  Rachel.  Why,  we  like  it  a  lot  better 
than  we  do  David  Harum.  That  was  a  nice  book,  but  it 
wasn't  lovely  poetry  like  yours.  And  David  Harum  sold  a 
million.  Why  shouldn't  yours  sell  as  mp.ny  ?  Only  eighteen 
thousand  —  why  are  you  lookin'  at  me  so  funny?  " 

Her  grandson  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Let's  let  well  enough 
alone,  Grandmother,"  he  said.  *'  Eighteen  thousand  will  do, 
thank  you.  I'm  like  Grandfather,  I'm  wondering  who  on 
earth  bought  them." 


290  THE  PORTYGEE 

Mrs.  Snow  was  surprised  and  a  little  troubled. 

<4  Why,  Albert,"  she  said,  '*  you  act  kind  of  —  kind  of 
queer,  seems  to  me.  You  talk  as  if  your  poetry  wasn't 
beautiful.  You  know  it  is.  You  used  to  say  it  was,  your 
self." 

He  interrupted  her.  "  Did  I,  Grandmother  ?  "  he  said. 
44  All  right,  then,  probably  I  did.  Let's  walk  about  the  old 
place  a  little.  I  want  to  see  it  all.  By  George,  I've  been 
dreaming  about  it  long  enough !  " 

There  were  callers  that  afternoon,  friends  among  the 
townsfolk,  and  more  still  after  supper.  It  was  late  —  late 
for  South  Harniss,  that  is  —  when  Albert,  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  the  bedroom  he  nor  they  had  ever  expected  he 
would  occupy  again,  bade  his  grandparents  good  night. 
Olive  kissed  him  again  and  again  and,  speech  failing  her, 
hastened  away  down  the  hall.  Captain  Zelotes  shook  his 
hand,  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  shut  it  again,  repeated  both 
operations,  and  at  last  with  a  brief,  "  Well,  good  ni.eht,  Al," 
hurried  after  his  wife.  Albert  closed  the  door,  put  his  lamp 
upon  the  bureau,  and  sat  down  in  the  big  rocker. 

In  a  way  the  night  was  similar  to  that  upon  which  he 
Lad  first  entered  that  room.  It  had  ceased  raining,  but  the 
wind,  as  on  that  first  night,  was  howling  and  whining  about 
the  eaves,  the  shutters  rattled  and  the  old  house  creaked  and 
groaned  rheumatically.  It  was  not  as  cold  as  on  that  occa 
sion,  though  by  no  means  warm.  He  remembered  how  bare 
and  comfortless  he  had  thought  the  room.  Now  it  looked 
almost  luxurious.  And  he  had  been  homesick,  or  fancied 
himself  in  that  condition.  Compared  to  the  homesickness 
he  had  known  during  the  past  ei^iteen  months  that  youth 
ful  seizure  seemed  contemptible  and  quite  without  excuse. 
He  looked  about  the  room  again,  looked  long  and  lovingly. 
Then,  with  a  sigh  of  content,  drew  from  his  pocket  the  two 
letters  which  had  lain  upon  the  sitting-room  table  when  he 
arrived,  opened  them  and  began  to  read. 

Madeline  wrote,  as  always,  vivaciously  and  at  length. 
The  maternal  censorship  having  been  removed,  she  wrote 
exactly  as  she  felt.  She  could  scarcely  believe  he  was  really 


THE  PORTYGEE  291 

going  to  be  at  home  when  he  received  this,  at  home  in  dear, 
quaint,  queer  old  South  Harniss.  Just  think,  she  had  not 
seen  the  place  for  ever  ana  ever  so  long,  not  for  over  two 
years.  How  were  all  the  funny,  odd  people  who  lived  there 
all  the  time  ?  Did  he  remember  how  he  and  she  used  to  go  to 
church  every  Sunday  and  sit  through  those  dreadful,  dread 
ful  sermons  by  that  prosy  old  minister  just  as  an  excuse  for 
meeting  each  other  afterward  ?  She  was  so  sorry  she  could 
not  have  been  there  to  welcome  her  hero  when  he  stepped 
from  the  train.  It  it  hadn't  been  for  Mother's  poor  nerves 
she  surely  would  have  been.  He  knew  it,  didn't  he?  Of 
course  he  did.  But  she  should  see  him  soon  '*  because 
Mother  is  planning  already  to  come  back  to  New  York  in  a 
few  weeks  and  then  you  are  to  run  over  immediately  and 
make  us  a  long  visit.  And  I  shall  be  so  proud  of  you. 
There  are  lots  of  Army  fellows  down  here  now,  officers  for 
the  most  part.  So  we  dance  and  are  very  gay  —  that  is, 
the  other  girls  are ;  I,  being  an  engaged  young  lady,  am  very 
circumspect  and  demure,  of  course.  Mother  carries  The 
Lances  about  with  her  wherever  she  goes,  to  teas  and  such 
things,  and  reads  aloud  from  it  often.  Captain  Blanchard, 
he  is  one  of  the  family's  officer  friends,  is  crazy  about  your 
poetry,  dear.  He  thinks  it  wonderful.  You  know  what  / 
think  of  it,  don't  you,  and  when  I  think  that  /  actually 
helped  you,  or  played  at  helping  you  write  some  of  it ! 

*'  And  I  am  wild  to  see  your  war  cross.  Some  of  the  of 
ficers  here  have  them  —  the  crosses,  I  mean  —  but  not  many. 
Captain  Blanchard  has  the  military  medal,  and  he  is  almost 
as  modest  about  it  as  you  are  about  your  decoration.  I 
don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  modest.  If  /  had  a  Croix  de 
Guerre  I  should  want  every  one  to  know  about  it.  At  the 
tea  dance  the  other  afternoon  there  was  a  British  major 
who—" 

And  so  on.  The  second  letter  was  really  a  continuation 
of  the  first.  Albert  read  them  both  and,  after  the  reading 
was  finished,  sat  for  some  time  in  the  rocking  chair,  quite 
regardless  of  the  time  and  the  cold,  thinking.  He  took  from 
his  pocketbook  a  photograph,  one  which  Madeline  had  sent 


292  THE  PORTYGEE 

him  months  before,  which  had  reached  him  while  he  lay  in 
the  French  hospital  after  his  removal  from  the  German 
camp.  He  looked  at  the  pretty  face  in  the  photograph.  She 
looked  just  as  he  remembered  her,  almost  exactly  as  she  had 
looked  more  than  two  years  before,  smiling,  charming,  care 
free.  She  had  not,  apparently,  grown  older,  those  age-long 
months  had  not  changed  her.  He  rose  and  regarded  his  own 
reflection  in  the  mirror  of  the  bureau.  He  was  surprised, 
as  he  was  constantly  being  surprised,  to  see  that  he,  too,  had 
not  changed  greatly  in  personal  appearance. 

He  walked  about  the  room.  His  grandmother  had  told 
him  .hat  his  room  was  just  as  he  had  left  it.  "  I  wouldn't 
change  it,  Albert,"  she  said,  "  even  when  we  thought  you  — 
you  wasn't  comin'  back.  I  couldn't  touch  it,  somehow.  I 
kept  thinkin',  '  Some  day  I  will.  Pretty  soon  I  must'  But 
I  never  did,  and  now  I'm  so  glad." 

He  wandered  back  to  the  bureau  and  pulled  open  the 
upper  drawers.  In  those  drawers  were  so  many  things, 
things  which  he  had  kept  there,  either  deliberately  or  because 
he  was  too  indolent  to  destroy  them.  Old  dance  cards,  in 
vitations,  and  a  bundle  of  photographs,  snapshots.  He  re 
moved  the  rubber  band  from  the  bundle  and  stood  looking 
them  over.  Photographs  of  school  fellows,  of  picnic  groups, 
of  girls.  Sam  Thatcher,  Gertie  Kendrick  —  and  Helen 
Kendall.  There  were  at  least  a  dozen  of  Helen. 

One  in  particular  was  very  good.  From  that  photograph 
the  face  of  Helen  as  he  had  known  it  four  years  before 
looked  straight  up  into  his  —  clear-eyed,  honest,  a  hint  of 
humor  and  understanding  and  common-sense  in  the  gaze  and 
at  the  corners  of  the  lips.  He  looked  at  the  photograph, 
and  the  photograph  looked  up  at  him.  He  had  not  seen  her 
for  so  long  a  time.  He  wondered  if  the  war  had  changed 
her  as  it  had  changed  him.  Somehow  he  hoped  it  had  not. 
Change  did  not  seem  necessary  in  her  case. 

There  had  been  no  correspondence  between  them  since  her 
letter  written  when  she  heard  of  his  enlistment.  He  had  not 
replied  to  that  because  he  knew  Madeline  would  not  wish  him 
to  do  so.  He  wondered  if  she  ever  thought  of  him  now,  if 


THE  PORTYGEE  293 

she  remembered  their  adventure  at  High  Point  light.  He 
had  thought  of  her  often  enough.  In  those  days  and  nights 
of  horror  in  the  prison  camp  and  hospital  he  had  found  a 
little  relief,  a  little  solace  in  lying  with  closed  eyes  and  sum 
moning  back  from  memory  the  things  of  home  and  the  faces 
of  home.  And  her  face  had  been  one  of  these.  Her  face 
and  those  of  his  grandparents  and  Rachel  and  Laban,  and 
visions  of  the  old  house  and  the  rooms  —  they  were  the  sub 
stantial  things  to  cling  to  and  he  had  clung  to  them.  They 
were  home.  Madeline  —  ah !  yes,  he  had  longed  for  her  and 
dreamed  of  her,  God  knew,  but  Madeline,  of  course,  was 
different. 

He  snapped  the  rubber  band  once  more  about  the  bun 
dle  of  photographs,  closed  the  drawer  and  prepared  for 
bed. 

For  the  two  weeks  following  his  return  home  he  had  a 
thoroughly  good  time.  It  was  a  tremendous  comfort  to  get 
up  when  he  pleased,  to  eat  the  things  he  liked,  to  do  much  or 
little  or  nothing  at  his  own  sweet  will.  He  walked  a  good 
deal,  tramping  along  the  beach  in  the  blustering  wind  and 
chilly  sunshine  and  enjoying  every  breath  of  the  clean  salt 
air.  He  thought  much  during  those  solitary  walks,  and  at 
times,  at  home  in  the  evenings,  he  would  fall  to  musing  and 
sit  silent  for  long  periods.  His  grandmother  was  troubled. 

*'  Don't  it  seem  to  you,  Zelotes,"  she  asked  her  husband, 
'*  as  if  Albert  was  kind  of  discontented  or  unsatisfied  these 
days?  He's  so  —  so  sort  of  fidgety.  Talks  like  the  very 
mischief  for  ten  minutes  and  then  don't  speak  for  half  an 
hour.  Sits  still  for  a  long  stretch  and  then  jumps  up  and 
starts  off  walkin'  as  if  he  was  crazy.  What  makes  him  act 
so?  He's  kind  of  changed  from  what  he  used  to  be.  Doi.  j 
you  think  so  ?  " 

The  captain  patted  her  shoulder.  "  Don't  worry,  Mother," 
he  said.  u  Al's  older  than  he  was  and  what  he's  been 
through  has  made  him  older  still.  As  for  the  fidgety  part  of 
it,  the  settin'  down  and  jumpin'  up  and  all  that,  that's  the 
way  they  all  act,  so  far  as  I  can  learn.  Elisha  Warren,  over 
to  South  Denboro,  tells  me  his  nephew  has  been  that  way 


294  THE  PORTYGEE 

ever  since  he  got  back.  Don't  fret,  Mother,  Al  will  come 
round  all  right." 

"  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  be  anxious  to  see  —  to  see 
her,  you  know." 

"  Her  ?  Oh,  you  mean  the  Fosdick  girl.  Well,  he'll  be 
goin'  to  see  her  pretty  soon,  I  presume  likely.  They're  due 
back  in  New  York  'most  any  time  now,  I  believe.  .  .  .  Oh, 
hum !  Why  in  time  couldn't  he  — " 

"Couldn't  he  what,  Zelotes?" 

"  Oh,  nothin',  nothin'." 

The  summons  came  only  a  day  after  this  conversation.  It 
came  in  the  form  of  another  letter  from  Madeline  and  one 
from  Mrs.  Fosdick.  They  were,  so  the  latter  wrote,  back 
once  more  in  their  city  home,  her  nerves,  thank  Heaven, 
were  quite  strong  again,  and  they  were  expecting  him,  Al 
bert,  to  come  on  at  once.  "  We  are  all  dying  to  see  you," 
wrote  Mrs.  Fosdick.  "  And  poor,  dear  Madeline,  of  course, 
is  counting  the  moments." 

*'  Stay  as  long  as  you  feel  like,Al,"  said  the  captain,  when 
told  of  the  proposed  visit.  "  It's  the  dull  season  at  the  of 
fice,  anyhow,  and  Labe  and  I  can  get  along  first-rate,  .vith 
Issy  to  superintend.  Stay  as  long  as  you  want  to,  only  — 

"  Only  what,  Grandfather?  " 

11  Only  don't  want  to  stay  too  long.  That  is,  don't  fall  in 
love  with  New  York  so  hard  that  you  forget  there  is  such  a 
place  as  South  Harniss." 

Albert  smiled.  *'  I've  been  in  places  farther  away  than 
New  York,"  he  said,  "  and  I  never  forgot  South  Harniss." 

"  Um-hm.  .  .  .  Well,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  that  was 
90.  But  you'll  have  better  company  in  New  York  than  you 
aid  in  some  of  those  places.  Give  my  regards  to  Fosdick. 
So-long,  Al." 


T 


CHAPTER  XVI 

[HE  Fosdick  car  was  at  the  Grand  Central  Station 
when  the  Knickerbocker  Limited  pulled  in.  And 

Madeline,  a  wonderfully  furred  and  veiled  and 

hatted  Madeline,  was  waiting  there  behind  the  rail  as  he 
came  up  the  runway  from  the  train.  It  was  amazing  the 
fact  that  it  was  really  she.  It  was  more  amazing  still  to 
kiss  her  there  in  public,  to  hold  her  hand  without  fear  that 
some  one  might  see.  To  — 

"  Shall  I  take  your  bags,  sir  ?  " 

It  was  the  Fosdick  footman  who  asked  it.  Albert  started 
guiltily.  Then  he  laugheti,  realizing  that  the  hand-holding 
and  the  rest  were  no  longer  criminal  offenses.  He  surren 
dered  his  luggage  to  the  man.  A  few  minutes  later  he  and 
Madeline  were  in  the  limousine,  which  was  moving  rapidly 
up  the  Avenue.  And  Madeline  was  asking  questions  and  he 
was  answering  and  —  and  still  it  was  all  a  dream.  It 
couldn't  be  real. 

It  was  even  more  like  a  dream  when  the  limousine  drew 
up  before  the  door  of  the  Fosdick  home  and  they  .entered 
that  home  together.  For  there  was  Mrs.  Fosdick,  as  ever 
majestic,  commanding,  awe-inspiring,  the  same  Mrs.  Fos 
dick  who  had,  in  her  letter  to  his  grandfather,  writ 
ten  him  down  a  despicable,  underhanded  sneak,  here 
was  that  same  Mrs.  Fosdick  —  but  not  at  all  the  same.  For 
this  lady  was  smiling  and  gracious,  welcoming  him  to  her 
home,  addressing  him  by  his  Christian  name,  treating  him 
kindly,  with  almost  motherly  tenderness.  Madeline's  let 
ters  and  Mrs.  Fosdick's  own  letters  received  during  his  con 
valescence  abroad  had  prepared  him,  or  so  he  had  thought, 
for  some  such  change.  Now  he  realized  that  he  had  not 
been  prepared  at  all.  The  reality  was  so  much  more  revo- 

295 


296  THE  PORTYGEE 

lutionary  than  the  anticipation  that  he  simply  could  not  be 
lieve  it. 

But  it  was  not  so  very  wonderful  if  he  had  known  all  the 
facts  and  had  been  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  calmly  analyze 
them.  Mrs.  Fletcher  Fosdick  was  a  seasoned  veteran,  a 
general  who  had  planned  and  fought  many  hard  campaigns 
upon  the  political  battlegrounds  of  women's  clubs  and  so 
cieties  of  various  sorts.  From  the  majority  of  those  cam 
paigns  she  had  emerged  victorious,  but  her  experiences  in 
defeat  had  taught  her  that  the  next  best  thing  to  winning  is 
to  lose  gracefully,  because  by  so  doing  much  which  appears 
to  be  lost  may  be  regained.  For  Albert  Speranza,  book 
keeper  and  would-be  poet  of  South  Harniss,  Cape  Cod,  she 
had  had  no  use  whatever  as  a  prospective  son-in-law.  Even 
toward  a  living  Albert  Speranza,  hero  and  newspaper-made 
genius,  she  might  have  been  cold.  But  when  that  hero  and 
genius  was,  as  she  and  every  one  else  supposed,  safely  and 
satisfactorily  dead  and  out  of  the  way,  she  had  seized  the 
opportunity  to  bask  in  the  radiance  of  his  memory.  She 
had  talked  \lbert  Speranza  and  read  Albert  Speranza  and 
boasted  of  Albert  Speranza's  engagement  to  her  daughter 
before  the  world.  Now  that  the  said  Albert  Speranza  had 
been  inconsiderate  enough  to  "  come  alive  again,"  there  was 
but  one  thing  for  her  to  do  —  that  is,  to  make  the  best  of  it. 
And  when  Mrs.  Fletcher  Fosdick  made  the  best  of  any 
thing  she  made  the  very  best. 

"  It  doesn't  make  any  difference,"  she  told  her  husband, 
"  whether  he  really  is  a  genius  or  whether  he  isn't.  We 
have  said  he  is  and  now  we  must  keep  on  saying  it.  And  if 
he  can't  earn  his  salt  by  his  writings  —  which  he  probably 
can't  —  then  you  must  fix  it  in  some  way  so  that  he  can 
make-believe  earn  it  by  something  else.  He  is  engaged  to 
Madeline,  and  we  have  told  every  one  that  he  is,  so  he  will 
have  to  marry  her ;  at  least,  I  see  no  way  to  prevent  it." 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  Fosdick.  "  And  after  that  I'll  have 
to  support  them,  I  suppose." 

'*  Probably  —  unless  you  want  your  only  child  to  starve." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  Henrietta  — " 


THE  PORTYGEE  297 

'*  You  needn't,  for  there  is  nothing  more  to  say.  We're  in 
it  r.nd,  whether  we  like  it  or  not,  we  must  make  the  best  of 
it.  To  do  anything  now  except  appear  joyful  about  it  would 
be  to  make  ourselves  perfectly  ridiculous.  We  can't  do 
that,  and  you  know  it." 

Her  husband  still  looked  everything  but  contente  1. 

"  So  far  as  the  young  fellow  himself  goes,"  he  said,  "  I 
like  him,  rather.  I've  talked  with  him  only  once,  of  course, 
and  then  he  and  I  weren't  agreeing  exactly.  But  I  liked 
him,  nevertheless.  If  he  were  anything  but  a  fool  poet  I 
chould  be  more  reconciled." 

He  was  snubbed  immediately.  "  That"  declared  Mrs. 
Fosdick,  with  decision,  **  is  the  only  thing  that  makes  him 
possible." 

So  Mrs.  Fosdick's  welcome  was  whole-handed  if  not 
whole-hearted.  And  her  husband's  also  was  cordial  and 
intimate.  The  only  member  of  the  Fosdick  household  who 
did  not  regard  the  guest  with  favor  was  Googoo.  That 
aristocratic  bull-pup  was  still  irreconcilably  hostile.  When 
Albert  attempted  to  pet  him  he  appeared  to  be  planning  to 
devour  the  caressing  hand,  and  when  rebuked  by  his  mis 
tress  retired  beneath  a  davenport,  growling  ominously.  Even 
when  ignomiriously  expelled  from  the  room  he  growled  and 
cast  longing  backward  glances  at  the  Speranza  ankles.  No, 
Googoo  did  not  dissemble ;  Albert  was  perfectly  sure  of  his 
standing  in  Googoo's  estimation. 

Dinner  thaf  evening  was  a  trifle  more  formal  than  he  had 
expected,  and  he  was  obliged  to  apologize  for  the  limitations 
of  his  wardrobe.  His  dress  suit  of  former  days  he  had 
found  much  too  dilapidated  for  use.  Besides,  he  had  out 
grown  it. 

"  I  thought  I  was  thinner,"  he  said,  "  and  I  think  I  am. 
But  I  must  have  broadened  a  bit.  At  any  rate,  all  the  coats 
I  left  behind  won't  do  at  all.  I  shall  have  to  do  what  Cap 
tain  Snow,  my  grandfather,  calls  '  refit '  here  in  New  York. 
In  a  day  or  two  I  hope  to  be  more  presentable." 

Mrs.  Fosdick  assured  him  that  it  was  quite  all  right, 
really.  Madeline  asked  why  he  didn't  wear  his  uniform. 


298  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  I  was  dying  to  see  you  in  it,"  she  said.  "  Just  think,  I 
never  have." 

Albert  laughed.  '*  You  have  been  spared,"  he  told  her. 
"  Mine  was  not  a  triumph,  so  far  as  fit  was  concerned.  Of 
course,  I  had  a  complete  new  rig  when  I  cime  out  of  the 
hospital,  but  even  that  was  not  beautiful.  It  puckered  where 
it  should  have  bulged  and  bulged  where  it  should  have  been 
smooth." 

Madeline  professed  not  to  believe  him. 

*'  Nonsense !  "  she  declared.  "  I  don't  believe  it.  Why, 
almost  all  the  fellows  I  know  have  been  in  uniform  for  the 
past  two  years  and  theirs  fitted  beautifully." 

"  But  they  were  officers,  weren't  they,  and  their  uniforms 
were  custom  made." 

"  Why,  I  suppose  so.     Aren't  all  uniforms  custom  made  ?  " 

Her  father  laughed.  "  Scarcely,  Maddie,"  he  said.  "  The 
privates  have  their  custom-made  by  the  mile  and  cut  off  in 
chunks  for  the  individual.  That  was  about  it,  wasn't  it, 
Speranza?" 

"  Just  about,  sir." 

Mrs.  Fosdick  evidently  thought  that  the  conversation  was 
taking  a  rather  low  tone.  She  elevated  it  by  asking  what 
his  thoughts  were  when  taken  prisoner  by  the  Germans.  He 
looked  puzzled. 

44  Thoughts,  Mrs.  Fosdick?  "  he  repeated.  "  I  don't  know 
that  I  understand,  exactly.  I  was  only  partly  conscious  and 
in  a  good  deal  of  pain  and  my  thoughts  were  rather  inco 
herent,  I'm  afraid." 

"  But  when  you  regained  consciousness,  you  know.  What 
were  your  thoughts  then?  Did  you  realize  that  you  had 
made  the  great  sacrifice  for  your  country?  Risked  your 
life  and  forfeited  your  liberty  and  all  that  for  the  cause? 
Wasn't  it  a  great  satisfaction  to  feel  that  you  had  done 
that?" 

Albert's  laugh  was  hearty  and  unaffected.  "Why,  no," 
he  said.  "  I  think  what  I  was  realizing  most  just  then  was 
that  I  had  made  a  miserable  mess  of  the  whole  business. 
Failed  in  doing  what  I  set  out  to  do  and  been  taken  prisoner 


THE  PORTYGEE  299 

besides.  I  remember  thinking,  when  I  was  clear-headed 
enough  to  think  anything,  '  You  fool,  you  spent  months  get 
ting  into  this  war,  and  then  got  yourself  out  of  it  in  fifteen 
minutes/  And  it  was  a  silly  trick,  too." 

Madeline  was  horrified. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried.  '*  Your  going  back 
there  to  rescue  your  comrade  a  silly  trick !  The  very  thing 
that  won  you  your  Croix  de  Guerre?" 

"  Why,  yes,  in  a  way.     I  didn't  save  Mike,  poor  fellow  — " 

"  Mike !     Was  his  name  Mike  ?  " 

**  Yes ;  Michael  Francis  Xavier  Kelly.  A  South  Boston 
Mick  he  was,  and  one  of  the  finest,  squarest  boys  that  ever 
drew  breath.  Well,  poor  Mike  was  dead  when  I  got  to  him, 
ro  my  trip  had  been  for  nothing,  and  if  he  had  been  alive  I 
could  not  have  prevented  his  being  taken.  As  it  was,  he  was 
dead  and  I  was  a  prisoner.  So  nothing  was  gained  and,  for 
me,  personally,  a  good  deal  was  lost.  It  wasn't  a  brilliant 
thing  to  do.  But,"  he  added  apologetically,  "  a  chap  doesn't 
have  time  to  think  collectively  in  such  a  scrape.  And  it  was 
my  first  real  scrap  and  I  was  frightened  half  to  death,  be 
sides." 

*'  Frightened !  Why,  I  never  heard  anything  so  ridicu 
lous !  What—" 

"  One  moment,  Madeline."  It  was  Mrs.  Fosdick  who 
interrupted.  "  I  want  to  ask  —  er  —  Albert  a  question.  I 
want  to  ask  him  if  during  his  long  imprisonment  he  com 
posed  —  wrote,  you  know.  I  should  haT*e  thought  the  sights 
and  experiences  would  have  forced  one  to  express  one's  self 
—  that  is,  one  to  whom  the  gift  of  expression  was  so  gener 
ously  granted,"  she  added,  with  a  gracious  nod. 

Albert  hesitated. 

"  Why,  at  first  I  did,"  he  said.  "  When  I  first  was  well 
enough  to  think,  I  used  to  try  to  write  —  verses.  I  wrote 
a  good  many.  Afterwards  I  tore  them  up." 

"  Tore  them  up !  "  Both  Mrs.  and  Miss  Fosdick  uttered 
this  exclamation. 

'*  Why,  yes.  You  see,  they  were  such  rot.  The  things  I 
wanted  to  write  about,  the  things  I  had  seen  and  was  see- 


300  THE  PORTYGEE 

ing,  the  —  the  fellows  like  Mike  and  their  pluck  and  all 
that  —  well,  it  was  all  too  big  for  me  to  tackle.  My  jingles 
sounded,  when  I  read  them  over,  like  tunes  on  a  street  piano. 
/  couldn't  do  it.  A  genius  might  have  been  equal  to  the  job, 
but  I  wasn't." 

Mrs.  Fosdick  glanced  at  her  husband.  There  was  some 
thing  of  alarmed  apprehension  in  the  glance.  Madeline's 
next  remark  covered  the  situation.  It  expressed  the  abso 
lute  truth,  so  much  more  of  the  truth  than  even  the  young 
lady  herself  realized  at  the  time. 

"  Why,  Albert  Speranza,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  never  heard 
you  speak  of  yourself  and  your  work  in  that  way  before. 
Always  —  always  you  have  had  such  complete,  such  splen 
did  confidence  in  yourself.  You  were  never  afraid  to  ai 
tempt  anything.  You  must  not  talk  so.  Don't  you  intend 
to  write  any  more?  " 

Albert  looked  at  her.  "  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  he  said  simply. 
"  That  is  just  what  I  do  intend  to  do  —  or  try  to  do." 

That  evening,  alone  in  the  library,  he  and  Madeline  had 
their  first  long,  intimate  talk,  the  first  since  those  days  —  to 
him  they  seemed  as  far  away  as  the  last  century  —  when 
they  walked  the  South  Harniss  beach  together,  walked  be 
neath  the  rainbows  and  dreamed.  And  now  here  was  their 
dream  coming  true. 

Madeline,  he  was  realizing  it  as  he  looked  at  her,  was 
prettier  than  ever.  She  had  grown  a  little  older,  of  course, 
a  little  more  matuie,  but  surprisingly  little.  She  was  still 
a  girl,  a  very,  very  pretty  girl  and  a  charming  girl.  And 
he  — 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  she  demanded  suddenly. 

He  came  to  himself.  "  I  was  thinking  about  you,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  just  as  you  used  to  be,  just  as  charming  and 
just  as  sweet.  You  haven't  changed." 

She  smiled  and  then  pouted. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  like  that  or  not,"  she  said. 
**  Did  you  expect  to  find  me  less  —  charming  and  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  of  course  not.  That  was  clumsy  on  my  part. 
What  I  meant  was  that  —  well,  it  seems  ages,  centuries,  since 


THE  PORTYGEE  301 

we  were  together  there  on  the  Cape  —  and  yet  you  have  not 
changed." 

She  regarded  him  reflectively. 

"  You  have,"  she  said. 

"  Have  what?" 

"  Changed.  You  have  changed  a  good  deal.  I  don't 
know  whether  I  like  it  or  not.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  more 
certain  by  and  by.  Now  show  me  your  war  cross.  At  least 
you  have  brought  that,  even  if  you  haven't  brought  your 
uniform." 

He  had  the  cross  in  his  pocket-book  and  he  showed  it  to 
her.  She  enthused  over  it,  of  course,  and  wished  he  might 
wear  it  even  when  in  citizen's  clothes.  She  didn't  see  why 
he  couldn't.  And  it  was  such  a  pity  he  could  not  be  in  uni 
form.  Captain  Blanchard  had  called  the  evening  before,  to 
see  Mother  about  some  war  charities  she  was  interested  in, 
and  he  was  still  in  uniform  and  wearing  his  decorations,  too. 
Albert  suggested  that  probably  Blanchard  was  still  in  serv 
ice.  Yes,  she  believed  he  was,  but  she  could  not  see  why 
that  should  make  the  difference.  Albert  had  been  in 
service. 

He  laughed  at  this  and  attempted  to  explain.  She  seemed 
to  resent  the  attempt  or  the  tone. 

"  I  do  wish,"  she  said  almost  pettishly,  **  that  you  wouldn't 
be  so  superior." 

He  was  surprised.  "  Superior !  "  he  repeated.  "  Supe 
rior  !  I  ?  Superiority  is  the  very  least  of  my  feelings.  I  — 
superior !  That's  a  joke." 

And,  oddly  enough,  she  resented  that  even  more.  u  WUy 
is  it  a  joke?  "  she  demanded.  "  I  should  think  you  had  the 
right  to  feel  superior  to  almost  any  one.  A  hero  —  and  a 
genius!  You  are  superior." 

However,  the  little  flurry  was  but  momentary,  and  she 
was  all  sweetness  and  smiles  when  she  kissed  him  good 
night.  He  was  shown  to  his  room  by  a  servant  and  amid  its 
array  of  comforts  —  to  him,  fresh  from  France  and  the 
camp  and  his  old  room  at  South  Harniss,  it  was  luxuriously 
magnificent  —  he  sat  for  some  time  thinking.  His  thoughts 


302  THE  PORTYGEE 

should  have  been  happy  ones,  yet  they  were  not  entirely  so. 
This  is  a  curiously  unsatisfactory  wcrld,  sometimes. 

The  next  day  he  went  shopping.  Fosdick  had  given  him 
a  card  to  his  own  tailor  and  Madeline  had  given  him  the 
names  of  several  shops  where,  so  she  declared,  he  could  buy 
the  right  sort  of  ties  and  things.  From  the  tailor's  Albert 
emerged  looking  a  trifle  dazed;  after  a  visit  to  two  of  the 
shops  the  dazed  expression  was  even  more  pronounced.  His 
next  visits  were  at  establishments  farther  downtown  and  not 
as  exclusive.  He  returned  to  the  Fosdick  home  feeling 
fairly  well  satisfied  with  the  results  achieved.  Madeline, 
however,  did  not  share  his  satisfaction. 

**  But  Dad  sent  you  to  his  tailor,"  she  said.  "  Why  in  the 
world  didn't  you  order  your  evening  clothes  there?  And 
Brett  has  the  most  stunning  ties.  Every  one  says  so.  In 
stead  you  buy  yours  at  a  department  store.  Now  why  ?  " 

He  smiled.  "  My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  your  father's 
tailor  estimated  that  he  might  make  me  a  very  passable  dress 
suit  for  one  hundred  and  seventy^five  dollars.  Brett's  ties 
v.ere  stunning,  just  as  you  say,  but  the  prices  ranged  from 
five  to  eight  dollars,  which  was  more  stunning  still.  For  a 
young  person  from  the  country  out  of  a  job,  which  is  my 
condition  at  present,  such  things  may  be  looked  at  but  not 
handled.  I  can't  afford  their." 

i .-*  She  tossed  her  head.  <k  What  nonsense !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  You're  not  out  of  a  job,  as  you  call  it.  You  are  a  writer 
and  a  famous  writer.  You  have  written  one  book  and  you 
are  going  to  write  more.  Besides,  you  must  have  made 
heaps  of  money  from  The  Lances.  Every  one  has  been 
reading  it." 

When  he  told  her  the  amount  of  his  royalty  check  she  ex 
pressed  the  opinion  that  the  publisher  must  have  cheated. 
It  ought  to  have  been  ever  and  ever  so  much  more  than  that. 
Such  wonderful  poems! 

The  next  day  she  went  to  Brett's  and  purchased  a  half 
dozen  of  the  most  expensive  ties,  which  she  presented  to  him 
forthwith. 

"  There !  "  she  demanded.     "  Aren't  those  nicer  than  the 


THE  PORTYGEE  303 

ones  you  bought  at  that  old  department  store  ?    Well,  then !  " 

4<  But,  Madeline,  T  must  not  let  you  buy  my  ties." 

*'  Why  not?  It  isn't  such  an  unheard-of  thing  for  an 
engaged  girl  to  give  her  fiance  a  necktie." 

'*  That  isn't  the  idea.  I  should  have  bought  ties  like  those 
myself,  but  I  couldn't  afford  them.  Now  for  you  to  — " 

"  Nonsense !  You  talk  as  if  you  we're  a  beggar.  Don't 
be  so  silly." 

"  But,  Madeline  — " 

"  Stop !     I  don't  want  to  hear  it." 

She  rose  and  went  out  of  the  room.  She  looked  as  if  she 
were  on  the  verge  of  tears.  He  felt  obliged  to  accept  the 
gift,  but  he  disliked  the  principle  of  the  things  as  much  as 
ever.  When  she  returned  she  was  very  talkative  and  gay 
and  chatted  all  through  luncheon.  The  subject  of  the  ties 
was  not  mentioned  again  by  either  of  them.  He  was  glad 
he  had  not  told  her  that  his  new  dress  suit  was  ready-made. 

While  in  France,  awaiting  his  return  home,  he  had  pur 
chased  a  ring  and  sent  it  to  her.  She  was  wearing  it,  of 
course.  Compared  with  other  articles  of  jewelry  which  she 
wore  from  time  to  time,  his  ring  made  an  extremely  modest 
showing.  She  seemed  quite  unaware  of  the  discrepancy, 
but  he  was  aware  of  it. 

On  an  evening  later  in  the  week  Mrs.  Fosdick  gave  a  re 
ception.  "  Quite  an  informal  affair,"  she  said,  in  announc 
ing  her  intention.  4<  Just  a  few  intimate  friends  to  meet 
Mr.  Speranza,  that  is  all.  Mostly  lovers  of  literature  — 
discerning  people,  if  I  may  say  so." 

The  quite  informal  affair  looked  quite  formidably  formal 
to  Albert.  The  few  intimate  friends  were  many,  so  it 
seemed  to  him.  There  was  still  enough  of  the  former  Al 
bert  Speranza  left  in  his  make-up  to  prevent  his  appearing 
in  the  least  distressed  or  ill  at  ease.  He  was,  as  he  had 
always  been  when  in  the  public  eye,  even  as  far  back  as  the 
school  dancing-classes  with  the  Misses  Bradshaw's  young 
ladies,  perfectly  self-possessed,  charmingly  polite,  absolutely 
self-assured.  And  his  good  looks  had  not  suffered  during 
his  years  of  imprisonment  and  suffering.  He  was  no  longer 


304  THE  PORTYGEE 

a  handsome  boy,  but  he  was  an  extraordinarily  attractive  and 
distinguished  man. 

Mrs.  Fosdick  marked  his  manner  and  appearance  and 
breathed  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  Madeline  noted  them.  Her 
young  friends  of  the  sex  noted  them  and  whispered  and 
looked  approval.  What  the  young  men  thought  does  not 
matter  so  much,  perhaps.  One  of  these  was  the  Captain 
Blanchard,  of  whom  Madeline  had  written  and  spoken. 
He  was  a  tall,  athletic  chap,  who  looked  well  in  his  uniform, 
and  whose  face  was  that  of  a  healthy,  clean-living  and  clean- 
thinking  young  American.  He  and  Albert  shook  hands  and 
looked  each  other  over.  Albert  decided  he  should  like 
Blanchard  if  he  knew  him  better.  The  captain  was  not 
talkative;  in  fact,  he  seemed  rather  taciturn.  Maids  and 
matrons  gushed  when  presented  to  the  lion  of  the  evening. 
It  scarcely  seemed  possible  that  they  were  actually  meeting 
the  author  of  The  Lances  of  Dawn.  That  wonderful  book ! 
Those  wonderful  poems !  "  How  can  you  write  them,  Mr. 
Speranza  ?  "  "  When  do  your  best  inspirations  come,  Mr. 
Speranza  ?  "  "  Oh,  if  I  could  write  as  you  do  I  should  walk 
on  air."  The  matron  who  breathed  the  last-quoted  ecstasy 
was  distinctly  weighty ;  the  mental  picture  of  her  pedestrian 
trip  through  the  atmosphere  was  interesting.  Albert's  hand 
was  patted  by  the  elderly  spinsters,  young  women's  eyes 
lifted  soulful  glances  to  his. 

It  was  the  sort  of  thing  he  would  have  revelled  in  three  or 
four  years  earlier.  Exactly  the  sort  of  thing  he  had 
dreamed  of  when  the  majority  of  the  poems  they  gushed 
over  were  written.  It  was  much  the  same  thing  he  remem 
bered  having  seen  his  father  undergo  in  the  days  when  he 
and  the  opera  singer  were  together.  And  his  father  had, 
apparently,  rather  enjoyed  it.  He  realized  all  this  —  and 
he  realized,  too,  with  a  queer  feeling  that  it  should  be  so, 
that  he  did  not  like  it  at  all.  It  was  silly.  Nothing  he  had 
written  warranted  such  extravagances.  Hadn't  these  peo 
ple  any  sense  of  proportion?  They  bored  him  to  despera 
tion.  The  sole  relief  was  the  behavior  of  the  men,  particu 
larly  the  middle-aged  or  elderly  men,  obviously  present 


THE  PORTYGEE  305 

fhrough  feminine  compulsion.  They  seized  his  hand,  moved 
it  up  and  down  with  a  pumping  motion,  ultered  some  stereo 
typed  prevarications  about  their  pleasure  at  meeting  him 
anJ,  their  having  enjoyed  his  poems  very  much,  and  then 
slid  on  in  the  direction  of  the  refreshment  room. 

And  Albert,  as  he  shook  hands,  bowed  and  smiled  and 
was  charmingly  affable,  found  his  thoughts  wandering  until 
they  settled  upon  Private  Mike  Kelly  and  the  picturesque 
language  of  the  latter  when  he,  as  sergeant,  routed  him  out 
for  guard  duty.  Mike  had  not  gushed  over  him  nor  called 
him  a  genius.  He  had  called  him  many  things,  but  not  that. 

He  was  glad  indeed  when  he  could  slip  away  for  a  dance 
with  Madeline.  He  found  her  chatting  gaily  with  Captain 
Blanchard,  who  had  been  her  most  recent  partner.  He 
claimed  her  from  the  captain  and  as  he  led  her  out  to  the 
dance  floor  she  whispered  that  she  was  very  proud  of  him. 
"  But  I  do  wish  you  could  wear  your  war  cross,"  she  added. 

The  quite  informal  affair  was  the  first  of  many  quite  as 
informally  formal.  Also  Mrs.  Fosdick's  satellites  and 
friends  of  the  literary  clubs  and  the  war  work  societies 
seized  the  opportunity  to  make  much  of  the  heroic  author 
of  The  Lances  of  Dawn.  His  society  was  requested  at  teas, 
at  afternoon  as  well  as  evening  gatherings.  He  would  have 
refused  most  of  these  invitations,  but  Madeline  and  her 
mother  seemed  to  take  his  acceptance  for  granted ;  in  fact, 
they  accepted  for  him.  A  ghastly  habit  developed  of  ask 
ing  him  to  read  a  few  of  his  own  poems  on  these  occasions. 
"Please,  Mr.  Speranza.  It  will  be  such  a  treat,  and  such 
an  honor."  Usually  a  particular  request  was  made  that  he 
read  "  The  Greater  Love."  Now  '4  The  Greater  Love  "  was 
the  poem  which,  written  in  those  rapturous  days  when  he 
and  Madeline  first  became  aware  of  their  mutual  adoration, 
was  refused  by  one  editor  as  a  "  trifle  too  syrupy."  To 
read  that  sticky  effusion  over  and  over  again  became  a  tor 
ment.  There  were  occasions  when  if  a  man  had  referred 
to  "  The  Greater  Love,"  its  author  might  have  howled  pro 
fanely  and  offered  bodily  violence.  But  no  men  ever  did 
refer  to  "  The  Greater  Love." 


306  THE  PORTYGEE 

On  pne  occasion  when  a  sentimental  matron  and  her  gusli- 
ing  daughter  had  begged  to  know  if  he  did  not  himself  adore 
that  poem,  if  he  did  not  consider  it  the  best  he  had  ever 
written,  he  had  answered  frankly.  He  was  satiated  with 
cake  and  tea  and  compliments  that  evening  and  recklessly 
truthful.  "  You  really  wish  to  know  my  opinion  of  that 
poem?"  he  asked.  Indeed  and  indeed  they  really  wished 
t9  know  just  that  thing.  "  Well,  then,  I  think  it's  rot,"  he 
declared.  "  I  loathe  it." 

Of  course  mother  and  daughter  were  indignant.  Their 
comments  reached  Madeline's  ear.  She  took  him  to  task. 

"  But  why  did  you  say  it  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  You  know 
you  don't  mean  it." 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  it.  It  is  rot.  Lots  of  the  stuff  in  that 
book  of  mine  is  rot.  I  did  not  think  so  once,  but  I  do  now. 
If  I  had  the  book  to  make  over  again,  that  sort  wouldn't  be 
included." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  as  if  studying  a  problem. 

'*  I  don't  understand  you  sometimes,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  You  are  different.  And  I  think  what  you  said  to  Mrs. 
Bacon  and  Marian  was  very  rude." 

Later  when  he  went  to  look  for  her  he  found  her  seated 
with  Captain  Blanchard  in  a  corner.  They  were  eating  ices 
and,  apparently,  enjoying  themselves.  He  did  not  disturb 
them.  Instead  he  hunted  up  the  offended  Bacons  and  apol 
ogized  for  his  outbreak.  The  apology,  although  graciously 
accepted,  had  rather  wearisome  consequences.  Mrs.  Bacon 
declared  she  knew  that  he  had  not  really  meant  what  he  said. 
"  I  realize  how  it  must  be,"  she  declared.  "  You  people  of 
temperament,  of  genius,  of  aspirations,  are  never  quite  sat 
isfied,  you  canno*:  be.  You  are  always  trying,  always  seek 
ing  the  higher  attainment.  Achievements  of  the  past,  though 
to  the  rest  of  us  wonderful  and  sublime,  are  to  you  —  as  you 
say,  '  rot.'  That  is  it,  is  it  not  ?  "  Albert  said  he  guessed 
it  was,  and  wandered  away,  seeking  seclusion  and  solitude. 
When  the  affair  broke  up  he  found  Madeline  and  Blanchard 
still  enjoying  each  other's  society.  Both  were  surprised 
when  told  the  hour. 


S 


CHAPTER  XVII 

O  the  first  three  weeks  of  his  proposed  month's  visit 
passed  and  the  fourth  began.  And  more  and  more 
his  feelings  of  dissatisfaction  and  uneasiness  in 
creased.  The  reasons  for  those  feelings  he  found  hard  to 
define.  The  Fosdicks  were  most  certainly  doing  their  best 
to  make  him  comfortable  and  happy.  They  were  kind  — 
yes,  more  than  kind.  Mr.  Fosdick  he  really  began  to  like. 
Mrs.  Fosdick's  manner  had  a  trace  of  condescension  in  it, 
but  as  the  lady  treated  all  creation  with  much  the  same 
measure  of  condescension,  he  was  more  amused  than  re 
sentful.  And  Madeline  —  Madeline  was  sweet  and  charm 
ing  and  beautiful.  There  was  in  her  manner  toward  him, 
or  so  he  fancied,  a  slight  change,  perhaps  a  change  a  trifle 
more  marked  since  the  evening  when  his  expressed  opinion 
of  "  The  Greater  Love  "  had  offended  her  and  the  Bacons. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  more  impatient,  more  capri 
cious,  sometimes  almost  overwhelming  him  with  attention 
and  tenderness  and  then  appearing  to  forget  him  entirely  and 
to  be  quite  indifferent  to  his  thoughts  and  opinions.  Her 
moods  varied  greatly  and  there  were  occasions  when  he 
fourd  it  almost  impossible  to  please  her.  At  these  times 
she  took  offense  when  no  offense  was  intended  and  he  found 
himself  apologizing  when,  to  say  the  least,  the  fault,  if  there 
was  any,  was  not  more  than  half  his.  But  she  rlways  fol 
lowed  those  moods  with  others  of  contrition  ai_J  penitence 
and  then  he  was  petted  and  fondled  and  his  forgiveness 
implored. 

These  slight  changes  in  her  he  noticed,  but  they  troubled 
him  little,  principally  because  he  was  coming  to  realize  the 
great  change  in  himself.  More  and  more  that  change  was 
forcing  itself  upon  him.  The  stories  and  novels  he  had 

307 


308  THE  PORTYGEE 

read  during  the  first  years  of  the  war,  the  stories  by  Eng 
lish  writers  in  which  young  men,  frivolous  and  inconsequen 
tial,  had  enlisted  and  fought  and  emerged  from  the  ordeal 
strong,  purposeful  and  "  made-over  "  —  those  stories  re 
curred  to  him  now.  He  had  paid  little  attention  to  the 
*'  making-over  "  idea  when  he  read  those  tales,  but  now  he 
was  forced  to  believe  there  might  be  something  in  it.  Cer 
tainly  something,  the  three  years  or  the  discipline  and  train 
ing  and  saffering,  or  all  combined,  had  changed  him.  He 
was  not  as  he  used  to  be.  Things  he  liked  very  much  he  no 
longer  liked  at  all.  And  where,  oh  where,  was  the  serene 
self-satisfaction  which  once  was  his? 

The  change  must  be  quite  individual,  he  decided.  All 
soldiers  were  not  so  affected.  Take  Blanchard,  for  in 
stance.  Blanchard  had  seen  service,  more  and  quite  as  hard 
fighting  as  he  had  seen,  but  Blanchard  was,  to  all  appear 
ances,  as  light-hearted  and  serene  and  confident  as  ever. 
Blanchard  was  like  Madeline;  he  was  much  the  same  now 
as  he  had  been  before  the  war.  Blanchard  could  dance  and 
talk  small  talk  and  laugh  and  enjoy  himself.  Well,  so  could 
he,  on  occasions,  for  that  matter,  if  that  had  been  all.  But 
it  was  not  all,  or  if  it  was  why  was  he  at  other  times  so  dis 
contented  and  uncomfortable?  What  was  the  matter  with 
him,  anyway  ? 

He  drew  more  and  more  into  his  shell  and  became  more 
quiet  and  less  talkative.  Madeline,  in  one  of  her  moods,  re 
proached  him  for  it. 

"  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  be  grumpy,"  she  said. 

They  had  been  sitting  in  the  library  and  he  had  lapsed 
into  a  fit  of  musing,  answering  her  questions  with  absent- 
minded  monosyllables.  Now  he  looked  up. 

"  Grumpy  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Was  I  grumpy  ?  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"  You  should.  You  answered  every  word  I  spoke  to  you 
with  a  grunt  or  a  growl.  I  might  as  well  have  been  talking 
to  a  bear." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  dear.  I  didn't  feel  grumpy.  I  was 
thinking,  I  suppose." 


THE  PO'RTYGEE  309 

"  Thinking !  You  are  always  thinking.  Why  think, 
pray?  ...  If  I  permitted  myself  to  think,  I  should  go  in 
sane." 

*'  Madeline,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

M  Oh,  nothing.  I'm  partially  insane  now,  perhaps.  Come, 
let's  go  to  the  piano.  I  feel  like  playing.  You  don't  mind, 
do  you  ?  " 

That  evening  Mrs.  Fosdick  made  a  suggestion  to  her  hus 
band. 

"  Fletcher,"  she  said,  "  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is  time 
you  and  Albert  had  a  talk  concerning  the  future.  A  busi 
ness  talk,  I  mean.  I  am  a  little  uneasy  about  him.  From 
some  things  he  has  said  to  me  recently  I  gather  that  he  is 
planning  to  earn  his  living  with  his  pen." 

'*  Well,  how  else  did  you  expect  him  to  earn  it ;  as  book 
keeper  for  the  South  Harniss  lumber  concern  ?  " 

*'  Don't  be  absurd.  What  I  mean  is  that  he  is  tninking  of 
devoting  himself  to  literature  exclusively.  Don't  interrupt 
me,  please.  That  is  very  beautiful  and  very  idealistic,  and  I 
honor  him  for  it,  but  I  cannot  see  Madeline  as  an  attic 
poet's  wife,  can  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't,  and  I  told  you  so  in  the  beginning." 

"  No.  Therefore  I  should  take  him  to  one  side  and  tell 
him  01  the  opening  in  your  firm.  With  that  as  a  means  of 
keeping  his  feet  on  the  ground  his  brain  may  soar  as  it  likes, 
the  higher  the  better." 

Mr.  Fosdick,  as  usual,  obeyed  orders  and  that  afternoon 
Albert  and  he  had  the  '*  business  talk."  Conversation  at 
dinner  was  somewhat  strained.  Mr.  Fosdick  was  quietly 
observant  and  seemed  rather  amused  about  something.  His 
wife  was  dignified  and  her  manner  toward  her  guest  was 
inclined  to  be  abrupt.  Albert's  appetite  was  poor.  As  for 
Madeline,  she  did  not  come  down  to  dinner,  having  a  head 
ache. 

She  came  down  later,  however.  Albert,  alone  in  the  li 
brary,  was  sitting,  a  book  upon  his  knees  and  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  nothing  in  particular,  when  she  came  in. 

"  You  are  thinking  again,  I  see,"  she  said. 


310  THE  PORTYGEE 

He  had  not  heard  her  enter.  Now  he  rose,  the  book  fall 
ing  to  the  floor. 

"  Why  —  why,  y^s,"  he  stammered.  "  How  are  you  feel 
ing  ?  How  is  your  head  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  worse.  And  no  better.  I  have  been  thinking, 
too,  which  perhaps  explains  it.  Sit  down,  Albert,  please. 
I  want  to  talk  with  you.  That  is  what  I  have  been  thinking 
about,  that  you  and  I  must  talk." 

She  seated  herse1f  upon  the  davenport  and  he  pulled  for 
ward  a  chair  and  sat  facing  her.  For  a  moment  she  was 
silent.  When  she  did  speak,  however,  her  question  was  very 
much  to  the  point. 

"  Why  did  you  say  4  No  '  to  Father's  offer?  "  she  asked. 

He  had  been  expecting  this  very  question,  or  one  leading 
up  to  it.  Nevertheless,  he  found  answering  difficult.  He 
hesitated  and  she  watched  him,  her  impatience  growing. 

"Well?  "she  asked. 

He  sighed.  "  Madeline,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  think 
me  very  unreasonable,  certainly  very  ungrateful." 

*'  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  you.  That  is  why  I 
feel  we  must  have  this  talk.  Tell  me,  please,  just  what 
Father  said  to  you  this  afternoon." 

"  He  said  —  well,  the  substance  of  what  he  said  was  to 
offer  me  a  position  in  his  office,  in  his  firm." 

*'  What  sort  of  a  position?  " 

"  Well,  I  —  I  scarcely  know.  I  was  to  have  a  desk  there 
and  —  and  be  generally  —  ornamental,  I  suppose.  It  was 
not  very  definite,  the  details  of  the  position,  but — " 

*'  The  salary  was  good,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  more  than  good.  Much  too  good  for  the  return  I 
could  make  for  it,  so  it  seemed  to  me." 

"  And  your  prospects  for  the  future  ?  Wasn't  the  offer 
what  people  call  a  good  opportunity  ?  " 

**  Why,  yes,  I  suppose  it  was.  For  the  right  sort  O-  man 
it  would  have  been  a  wonderful  opportunity.  Your  father 
was  most  kind,  most  generous,  Madeline.  Please  don't  think 
I  am  not  appreciative.  I  am,  but  — " 

"  Don't.     I  want  to  understand  it  all.     He  offered  you  this 


THE  PORTYGEE  311 

opportunity,  this  partnership  in  his  firm,  and  you  would  not 
accept  it?  Why?  Don't  you  like  my  father?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  like  him  very  much." 

"  Didn't  you,"  with  the  slightest  possible  curl  of  the  lip, 
"think  the  offer  worthy  of  you?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  don't  mean 
that !  Please  forgive  me.  I  am  trying  not  to  be  disagree 
able.  I  —  I  just  want  to  understand,  Albert,  that's  all." 

He  nodded.  "  I  know,  Madeline,'"  he  said.  "  You  have 
the  right  to  ask.  It  wasn't  so  much  a  question  of  the  offer 
being  worthy  of  me  as  of  my  being  worthy  the  offer.  Oh, 
Madeline,  why  should  you  and  I  pretend?  You  know  why 
Mr.  Fosdick  made  me  that  offer.  It  wasn't  because  I  was 
likely  to  be  worth  ten  dollars  a  year  to  his  firm.  In  Heaven's 
name,  what  use  would  I  be  in  a  stockbroker's  office,  with  my 
make-up,  with  my  lack  of  business  ability?  He  would  be 
making  a  place  for  me  there  and  paying  me  a  high  salary 
for  one  reason  only,  and  you  know  what  that  is.  Now  don't 
you?" 

She  hesitated  now,  but  only  for  an  instant.  She  colored 
a  little,  but  she  answered  bravely. 

*' I  suppose  I  do,"  she  said,  "but  what  of  it?  It  is  not 
unheard  of,  is  it,  the  taking  one's  prospective  son-in-law  into 
partnership  ?  " 

*'  No,  but  —  We're  dodging  the  issue  again,  Madeline. 
If  I  were  likely  to  be  of  any  help  to  your  father's  business, 
instead  of  a  hindrance,  I  might  perhaps  see  it  differently. 
As  it  is,  I  couldn't  accept  UL>SS  I  were  willing  to  be  an 
object  of  charity." 

"  Did  you  tell  Father  that?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said  a  good  deal.  He  was  frank  enough  to  say  that 
he  did  not  expect  me  to  be  of  great  assistance  to  the  firm. 
But  I  might  be  of  some  use  —  he  didn't  put  it  as  baldly  as 
that,  of  course  —  and  at  all  times  I  could  keep  on  with  my 
writing,  with  my  poetry,  you  know.  The  brokerage  busi 
ness  should  not  interfere  with  my  poetry,  he  said;  your 
mother  would  scalp  him  if  it  did  that." 


312  THE  PORTYGEE 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  That  sounds  like  dad,"  she  com 
mented. 

"  Yes.  Wei!,  we  talked  and  argued  for  some  time  on  the 
subject.  He  asked  me  what,  supposing  I  did  not  accept  this 
offer  of  his,  my  plans  for  the  future  might  be.  I  told  him 
they  were  pretty  unsettled  as  yet.  I  meant  to  write,  of 
course.  Not  poetry  altogether.  I  realized,  I  told  him,  that 
I  was  not  a  great  poet,  a  poet  of  genius." 

Madeline  interrupted.     Her  eyes  flashed. 

4<  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  I  have  heard 
you  say  it  before.  That  is,  recently.  In  the  old  days  you 
were  as  sure  as  I  that  you  were  a  real  poet,  or  should  be 
some  day.  You  never  doubted  it.  You  used  to  tell  me  so 
and  I  loved  to  hear  you." 

Albert  shook  his  head.  "  I  was  sure  of  so  many  things 
then,"  he  said.  "  I  must  have  been  an  insufferable  kid." 

She  stamped  her  foot.  '*  It  was  less  than  three  years  ago 
that  you  said  it,"  she  declared.  "  You  are  not  so  frightfully 
ancient  now.  .  .  .  Well,  go  on,  go  on.  How  did  it  end,  the 
talk  with  Father,  I  mean?  " 

"  I  told  him,"  he  continued,  *'  that  I  meant  to  write  and 
to  earn  my  living  by  writing.  I  meant  to  try  magazine  work 
—  stories,  you  know  —  and,  soon,  a  novel.  He  asked  if 
earning  enough  to  support  a  wife  on  would  not  be  a  long 
job  at  that  time.  I  said  I  was  afraid  it  might,  but  that  that 
seemed  to  me  my  particular  game,  nevertheless." 

She  interrupted  again.  "  Oid  it  occur  to  you  to  question 
whether  or  not  that  determination  of  yours  was  quite  fair  to 
me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why  —  why,  yes,  it  did.  And  I  don't  know  that  it  is 
exactly  fair  to  you.  I  — " 

"  Never  mind.  Go  on.  Tell  me  the  rest.  How  did  it 
end?" 

"  Well,  it  ended  in  a  sort  of  flare-up.  Mr.  Fosdick  was 
just  a  little  bit  sarcastic,  and  I  expressed  my  feelings  rather 
freely  —  too  freely,  I'm  afraid." 

*'  Never  mind.     I  want  to  know  what  you  said." 

"To  be  absolutely  truthful,  then,  this  is  what  I  said:    I 


THE  PORTYGEE  313 

said  that  I  appreciated  his  kindness  and  was  grateful  for  the 
offer.  But  my  mind  was  made  up.  I  would  not  live  upon 
his  charity  and  draw  a  large  salary  for  doing  nothing  except 
be  a  little,  damned  tame  house-poet  led  around  in  leash  and 
exhibited  at  his  wife's  club  meetings.  .  .  .  That  was  about 
all,  I  think.  We  shook  hands  at  the  end.  He  didn't  seem 
to  like  me  any  the  less  for  ...  Why,  Madeline,  have  I  of 
fended  you?  My  language  was  pretty  strong,  I  know, 
but—" 

She  had  bowed  her  head  upon  her  arms  amid  the  sofa 
cushions  and  was  crying.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  bent 
over  her. 

"  Why,  Madeline,"  he  said  again,  "  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I'm  sorry  — " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  she  sobbed.  "  It  isn't  that.  I  don't 
care  what  you  said.'' 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 

"  It  is  you,"  she  cried.  "  It  is  myself.  It  is  everything. 
It  is  all  wrong.  I  —  I  was  so  happy  and  —  and  now  I  am 
miserable.  Oh  —  oh,  I  wish  I  were  dead !  " 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  cushions  again  and  wept  hys 
terically.  He  stood  above  her,  stroking  her  hair,  trying  to 
soothe  her,  to  comfort  her,  and  all  the  time  he  felt  like  a 
brute,  a  heartless  beast.  At  last  she  ceased  crying,  sat  up 
and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 

'*  There ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  will  not  be  silly  any 
longer.  I  won't  be!  I  won't!  .  .  .  Now  tell  me:  Why 
have  you  changed  so  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  and  shook  his  head.  He  wis 
conscience-stricken  and  fully  as  miserable  as  she  professed 
to  be. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  am  older  and  —  and  —  and 
I  don't  see  things  as  I  used  to.  If  that  book  of  mine  had 
appeared  three  years  ago  I  have  no  doubt  I  should  have  be 
lieved  it  to  be  the  greatest  thing  ever  printed.  Now,  when 
people  tell  me  it  is  and  I  read  what  the  reviewers  said  and  all 
that,  I  —  I  don't  believe,  I  know  it  isn't  great  —  that  is, 


3i4  THE  PORTYGEE 

the  most  of  it  isn't.  There  is  some  prefty  good  stuff,  of 
course,  but —  You  see,  I  think  it  wasn't  the  poems  them 
selves  that  made  it  sell ;  I  think  it  was  all  the  fool  tommyrot 
the  papers  printed  about  me,  about  my  being  a  hero  and  all 
that  rubbish,  when  they  thought  I  was  dead,  you  know. 
That—" 

She  interrupted.  "  Oh,  don't !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't !  I 
don't  care  about  the  old  book.  I'm  not  thinking  about  that. 
I'm  thinking  about  you.  You  aren't  the  same  —  the  same 
toward  me." 

*'  Toward  you,  Madeline  ?  I  don't  understand  what  you 
mean." 

'*  Yes,  you  do.  Of  course  you  do.  If  you  were  the  same 
as  you  used  to  be,  you  would  let  Father  help  you.  We  used 
to  talk  about  that  very  thing  and  —  and  you  didn't  resent  it 
then." 

"  Didn't  I  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  didn't.  But  I  think  I  re 
member  our  speaking  sometimes  of  sacrificing  everything 
for  each  other.  We  were  to  live  in  poverty,  if  necessary, 
and  I  was  to  write,  you  know,  and — " 

"  Stop !     All  that  was  nonsense,  nonsense !  you  know  it." 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  it  was." 

"  You  know  it  was.  And  if  you  were  as  you  used  to  be, 
if  you—" 

11  Madeline ! " 

"What?    Why  did  you  interrupt  me?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  question.  Do  you  think 
you  are  exactly  the  same  —  as  you  used  to  be  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

44  Haven't  you  changed  a  little?  Are  you  as  sure  as  you 
were  then  —  as  sure  of  your  feeling  toward  me  ?  " 

She  gazed  at  him,  wide-eyed.     "  IV hat  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  are  you  sure  ?  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  perhaps 
—  I  was  out  of  your  life  for  a  long  time,  you  know,  and  dur 
ing  a  good  aeal  of  that  time  it  seemed  certain  that  I  had 
gone  forever.  I  am  not  blaming  you,  goodness  knows,  but 
-Madeline,  isn't  there —  Well,  if  I  hadn't  come  back, 
mightn't  there  have  been  some  one  —  else  ?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  315 

She  turned  pale. 

"  What  do  — "  she  stammered,  inarticulate.  *'  Why, 
why—" 

"  It  was  Captain  Blanchard,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

The  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks  with  a  rush.  She 
blushed  furiously  and  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  How  —  how  can  you  say  such  things ! "  she  cried. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  How  dare  you  say  Captain  Blan 
chard  took  advantage  of —  How  —  how  dare  you  say  I 
was  not  loyal  to  you  ?  It  is  not  true.  It  is  not  true.  I  was. 
I  am.  There  hasn't  been  a  word  —  a  word  between  us  since 
—  since  the  news  came  that  you  were —  I  told  him  —  1 
said —  And  he  has  been  splendid!  Splendid!  And  now 
you  say  —  Oh,  what  am  I  saying  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

She  collapsed  once  more  among  the  cushions.  He  leaned 
forward. 

"  My  dear  girl  — "  he  began,  but  she  broke  in. 

"  I  haven't  been  disloyal,"  she  cried.  "  I  have  tried  — 
Oh,  I  have  tried  so  hard  — " 

%<  Hush,  Madeline,  hush.  I  understand.  I  understand 
perfectly.  It  is  all  right,  really  it  is." 

"  And  I  should  have  kept  on  trying  always  —  always." 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes.  But  do  you  think  a  married  life  with 
so  much  trying  in  it  likely  to  be  a  happy  one?  It  is  better 
to  know  it  now,  isn't  it,  a  great  deal  better  for  both  of  us? 
Madeline,  I  am  going  to  my  room.  I  want  you  tc  think,  to 
think  over  all  this,  and  then  we  will  talk  again.  I  don't 
blame  you.  I  don't,  dear,  really.  I  think  I  realize  every 
thing —  all  of  it.  Good  night,  dear." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her.     She  sobbed,  but  that  was  all. 

The  next  moining  a  servant  came  to  his  room  with  a 
parcel  and  a  letter.  The  parcel  was  a  tiny  one.  It  was  the 
ring  he  had  given  her,  in  its  case.  The  letter  was  short  and 
much  blotted.  It  read: 

Dear  Albert: 

I  have  thought  and  thought,  as  you  told  me  to,  and  I  have 
concluded  that  you  were  right,  it  is  best  to  know  it  now. 
Forgive  me,  please,  please.  I  feel  wicked  and  horrid  and  I 


316  THE  PORTYGEE 

hate  myself,   but  I   think   this   is   best.     Oh,   do    forgive   me. 
Good-by. 

MADELINE. 

His  reply  was  longer.     At  its  end  he  wrote : 

Of  course  I  forgive  you.  In  the  first  place  there  is  nothing 
to  forgive.  The  unforgivable  thing  would  have  been  the  sacri 
fice  of  your  happiness  and  your  future  to  a  r'ream  and  a  memory. 
I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy.  I  am  sure  you  will  be,  for 
Blanchard  is,  I  know,  a  fine  fellow.  The  best  of  fortune  to 
you  both. 

The  next  forenoon  he  sat  once  more  in  the  car  of  the 
morning  train  for  Cape  Cod,  looking  out  of  the  window. 
He  had  made  the  journey  from  New  York  by  the  night 
boat  and  had  boarded  the  Cape  train  at  Middleboro.  All 
the  previous  day,  and  in  the  evening  as  he  tramped  the  cold 
wind-swept  deck  of  the  steamer,  he  had  been  trying  to  col 
lect  his  thoughts,  to  readjust  them  to  the  new  situation,  to 
comprehend  in  its  entirety  the  great  change  that  had  come 
in  his  life.  The  vague  plans,  the  happy  indefinite  dreams, 
all  the  rainbows  and  roses  had  gone,  shivered  to  bits  like 
the  reflection  in  a  broken  mirror.  Madeline,  his  Madeline, 
was  his  no  longer.  Nor  was  he  hers.  In  a  way  it  seemed 
impossible. 

He  tried  to  analyze  his  feelings.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
should  have  been  crushed,  grief-stricken,  broken.  He  was 
inclined  to  reproach  himself  because  he  was  not.  Of  course 
there  was  a  sadness  about  it,  a  regret  that  the  wonder  of 
those  days  of  love  and  youth  had  passed.  But  the  sorrow 
was  not  bitter,  the  regret  was  but  a  wistful  longing,  the  sweet, 
lingering  fragrance  of  a  memory,  that  was  all.  Toward  her, 
Madeline,  he  felt  —  and  it  surprised  him,  too,  to  find  that  he 
felt  —  not  the  slightest  trace  of  resentment.  And  more  sur 
prising  still  he  felt  none  toward  Blanchard.  He  had  meant 
what  he  said  in  his  letter,  he  wished  for  them  both  the 
greatest  happiness. 

And  —  th4re  was  no  use  attempting  to  shun  the  fact  —  his 
chief  feeling,  as  he  sat  there  by  the  car  window  looking  out 


THE  PORTYGEE  317 

at  the  familiar  landscape,  was  a  great  relief,  a  consciousness 
of  escape  from  what  might  have  been  a  miserable,  crushing 
mistake  for  him  and  for  her.  And  with  this  a  growing  sense 
of  freedom,  of  buoyancy.  It  seemed  wicked  to  feel  like 
that.  Then  it  came  to  him,  the  thought  that  Madeline, 
doubtless,  was  experiencing  the  same  feeling.  And  he  did 
not  mind  a  bit ;  he  hoped  she  was,  bless  her ! 

A  youthful  cigar  *'  drummer,"  on  his  first  Down-East  trip, 
sat  down  beside  him. 

:*  Kind  of  a  flat,  bare  country,  ain't  it  ? "  observed  the 
drummer,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  window. 
"  Looks  bleak  enough  to  me.  Know  anything  about  this 
neck  of  the  woods,  do  you  ?  " 

Albert  turned  to  look  at  him. 

"  Meaning  the  Cape?"  he  asked. 

"  Sure." 

"  Indeed  I  do.     I  know  all  about  it." 

"  That  so !     Say,  you  sound  as  if  you  liked  it." 

Albert  turned  back  to  the  window  again. 

"  Like  it !  "  he  repeated.  "  I  love  it."  Then  he  sighed, 
a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  added :  "  You  see,  I  belong  here." 

His  grandparents  and  Rachel  were  surprised  when  he 
walked  into  the  house  that  noon  and  announced  that  he 
hoped  dinner  was  ready,  because  he  was  hungry.  But 
their  surprise  was  more  than  balanced  by  their  joy.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes  demanded  to  know  how  long  he  was  going  to 
stay. 

"  As  long  as  you'll  have  me,  Grandfather,"  was  the  an 
swer. 

"Eh?  Well,  that  would  be  a  consider'ble  spell,  if  you 
left  it  to  us,  but  I  cal'late  that  girl  in  New  York  will  have 
s^nethin'  to  say  as  to  time  limit,  won't  she?  " 

Albert  smiled.  "  I'll  tell  you  about  that  by  and  by,"  he 
said. 

He  did  not  tell  them  until  that  evening  after  supper.  It 
was  Friday  evening  and  Olive  was  going  to  prayer-meeting, 
but  she  delayed  "  putting  on  her  things  "  to  hear  the  tale. 
The  news  that  the  engagement  was  off  and  that  her  grand- 


318  THE  PORTYGEE 

son  was  not,  after  all,  to  wed  the  daughter  of  the  Honorable 
Fletcher  Fosdick,  shocked  and  grieved  her  not  a  little. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  she  sighed.  "  I  suppose  you  know  what's 
best,  Albert,  and  maybe,  ae  you  say,  you  wouldn't  have  been 
happy,  but  I  did  feel  sort  of  proud  to  think  my  boy  was 
goin'  to  marry  a  millionaire's  daughter." 

Captain  Zelotes  made  no  comment  —  then.  He  asked  to 
be  told  more  particulars.  Albert  described  the  life  at  the 
Fosdick  home,  the  receptions,  his  enforced  exhibitions  and 
readings.  At  length  the  recital  reached  the  point  of  the 
interview  in  Fosdick's  office. 

*'  So  he  offered  you  to  take  you  mto  the  firm  —  eh,  son  ?  " 
he  observed. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

*'  Humph !  Fosdick,  Williamson  and  Hendricks  are  one 
of  the  biggest  brokerage  houses  goin',  so  a  good  many  New 
Yorkers  have  told  me." 

"  No  doubt.  But,  Grandfather,  you've  had  some  experi 
ence  with  me  as  a  business  man ;  how  do  you  think  I  would 
fit  into  a  firm  of  stockbrokers  ?  " 

Captain  Lote's  eye  twinkled,  but  he  did  not  answer  the 
question.  Instead  he  asked: 

"  Just  what  did  you  give  Fosdick  as  your  reason  for  not 
sayin'  yes  ?  " 

Albert  laughed.  "  Well,  Grandfather,"  he  said,  "  I'll  tell 
you.  I  said  that  I  appreciated  his  kindness  and  all  that, 
but  that  I  would  not  draw  a  big  salary  foi  doing  nothing 
except  to  be  a  little,  damned  tame  house-poet  led  around  in 
leash  and  shewn  off  at  his  wife's  club  meetings." 

Mrs.  Snow  uttered  a  faint  scream.  *'  Oh,  Albert ! "  she 
exclaimed.  She  might  have  said  more,  but  a  shout  from 
her  husband  prevented  her  doing  so. 

Captain  Zelotes  had  risen  and  his  mighty  hand  descended 
with  a  stinging  slap  upon  h;s  grandson's  shoulder. 

"  Bully  for  you,  boy !  "  he  cried.  Then,  turning  to  Olive, 
he  added,  *'  Mother,  I've  always  kind  of  cal'lated  that  you 
had  one  man  around  this  house.  Now,  by  the  Lord 
A'Mighty,  I  know  you've  got  two!" 


THE  PORTYGEE  319 

Olive  rose.  "Well,"  she  declared  emphatically,  "that 
may  be ;  but  if  both  those  men  are  goin'  to  start  in  swearin' 
right  here  in  the  sittin'  room,  I  think  it's  high  time  somebody 
in  that  family  went  to  church.'' 

So  to  prayer  meeting  she  went,  with  Mrs.  Ellis  as  escort, 
and  her  husband  and  grandson,  seated  in  armchairs  before 
the  sitting  room  stove,  both  smoking,  talked  and  talked,  of 
the  past  and  of  the  future  —  not  as  man  to  boy,  nor  as  grand 
parent  to  grandson,  but  for  the  first  time  as  equals,  without 
reservations,  as  man  to  man. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  next  morning  Albert  met  old   Mr.   Kendall. 
After  breakfast  Captain  Zelotes  had  gone,  as  usual, 
directly  to  the  office.     His  grandson,  however,  had 
not  accompanied  him. 

"  What  are  you  cal'latin'  to  do  this  mornin',  Al  ? "  in 
quired  the  captain. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly,  Grandfather.  I'm  going  to 
look  about  the  place  a  bit,  write  a  letter  to  my  publishers, 
and  take  a  walk,  I  think.  You  will  probably  see  me  at 
the  office  pretty  soon.  I'll  look  in  there  by  and  by." 

*'  Ain't  goin'  to  write  one  or  two  of  those  five  hundred 
dollar  stories  before  dinner  time,  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  guess  not,  sir.  I'm  afraid  they  won't  be  written  as 
quickly  as  all  that." 

Captain  Lote  shook  his  head.  "  Godfreys ! "  he  ex 
claimed  ;  "  it  ain't  the  writin'  of  'em  I'd  worry  d>out  so 
much  as  the  gettin'  paid  for  'em.  You're  sure  that  editor 
man  ain't  crazy,  you  say  ?  " 

'* 1  hope  he  isn't.  He  seemed  sane  enough  when  I  saw 
him." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  It's  live  and  learn,  I  suppose,  bur  if 
anybody  but  you  h^d  told  me  that  magazino  folks  paid  as 
much  as  five  hundred  dollars  a  piece  for  yarns  made  up  out 
of  a  feller's  head  without  a  word  of  truth  in  'em,  I'd  — 
well,  I  should  have  told  the  feller  that  told  me  to  go  to  a 
doctor  right  off  and  have  his  head  examined.  But  —  well, 
as  'tis  I  cal'late  I'd  better  have  my  own  looked  at.  So  long, 
Al.  Come  in  to  the  office  if  you  get  a  chance." 

He  hurried  out.  Albert  walked  to  the  window  and 
watched  the  sturdy  figure  swinging  out  of  the  yard.  He 
wondered  if,  should  he  live  to  his  grandfather's  age,  his 
step  would  be  as  firm  and  his  shoulders  as  square. 

320 


THE  PORTYGEE  321 

Olive  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  You  don't  mind  his  talkin'  that  way  about  your  writin' 
those  stories,  do  you,  Albert  ?  "  she  asked,  a  trace  of  anxiety 
in  her  tone.  "  He  don't  mean  it,  you  know.  He  don't  un 
derstand  it  —  says  he  don't  himself  —  but  he's  awful  proud 
of  you,  just  the  same.  Why,  last  night,  after  you  and  he 
had  finished  talk;n'  and  he  came  up  to  bed  —  and  the  land 
knows  what  time  of  night  or  mornin'  thai  was  —  he  woke 
me  out  of  a  sound  sleep  to  tell  me  about  that  New  York 
magazine  man  givin'  you  a  written  order  to  write  six  stories 
for  his  magazine  at  five  hundred  dollars  a  piece.  Zelotes 
couldn't  seem  to  get  over  it.  '  Think  of  it,  Mother,'  he  kept 
sayin'.  *  Think  of  it !  Pretty  nigh  twice  what  I  pay  as 
good  a  man  as  Labe  Keeler  for  keepin'  books  a  whole  year. 
And  Al  says  he  ought  to  do  a  story  every  forni't.  I  used 
to  jaw  his  head  off,  tellin'  him  he  was  on  the  road  to  starva 
tion  and  all  that.  Tut,  tut,  tut !  Mother,  I've  waited  a  long 
time  to  say  it,  but  it  looks  as  if  you  married  a  fool.'  .  .  . 
That's  the  way  he  talked,  but  he's  a  long  ways  from  bein'  a 
fool,  your  grandfather  is,  Albert." 

Albert  nodded.  "  No  one  knows  that  better  than  I,"  he 
said,  with  emphasis. 

*'  There's  one  thing,"  she  went  on,  "  that  kind  of  troubled 
me.  He  said  you  was  goin'  to  insist  on  payin'  board  here 
at  home.  Now  you  know  this  house  is  yours.  And  we 
love  to — " 

He  put  his  arm  about  her.  "  I  know  it,  Grandmother," 
he  broke  in,  quickly.  "  But  that  is  all  settled.  I  am  going 
to  try  to  make  my  own  living  in  my  own  way.  I  am  going 
to  write  and  see  what  I  am  really  worth.  I  have  my  royalty 
money,  you  know,  most  of  it,  and  I  have  this  order  for  the 
series  of  stories.  I  can  afford  to  pay  for  my  keep  and  I 
shall.  You  see,  as  I  told  Grandfather  last  night,  I  don't 
propose  to  live  on  his  charity  any  more  than  on  Mr.  Fos- 
dick's." 

She  sighed. 

"  So  Zelotes  said,"  she  admitted.  "  He  told  me  no  less 
than  three  times  that  you  said  it.  It  seemed  to  tickle  him 


322  THE  PORTYGEE 

most  to  death,  for  some  reason,  and  that's  queer,  too,  for 
he's  anything  but  stingy.  But  there,  I  suppose  you  can 
pay  board  if  you  want  to,  though  who  you'll  pay  it  to  is  an 
other  thing.  /  shan't  take  a  cent  from  the  only  grandson 
I've  got  in  the  world." 

It  was  while  on  his  stroll  down  to  the  villag3  that  Albert 
met  Mr.  Kendall.  The  reverend  gentleman  was  plodding 
alonr;  carrying  i  market  basket  from  the  end  of  which, 
beneath  a  fragment  of  newspaper,  the  tail  and  rear 
third  of  a  huge  codfish  drooped.  The  basket  and  its  con 
tents  must  have  weighed  at  least  twelve  pounds  and  the  old 
minister  was,  as  Captain  Zeloi-es  would  have  said,  making 
heavy  weather  of  it.  Albert  went  to  his  assistance. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Kendall,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  afraid  that 
basket  is  rather  heavy,  isn't  it.  Mayn't  I  help  you  with  it?  " 
Then,  seeing  that  the  old  gentleman  did  not  recognize  him, 
he  aCded,  '*  I  am  Albert  Speranza." 

Down  went  the  basket  and  the  codfish  and  Mr.  Kendall 
seized  him  by  both  hands. 

"  Why,  of  course,  of  course,"  he  cried.  "  Of  course,  of 
Bourse.  It's  our  young  hero,  isn't  it.  Our  po^.t,  our  happy 
warrior.  Yes, —  yes,  of  course.  ,co  glad  to  .see  you,  Al 
bert.  .  .  .  Er  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  How  is  your  mother?" 

"  You  mean  my  grandmother  ?  She  is  very  well,  thank 
you." 

"  Yes  —  er  —  yes,  your  grandmother,  of  course.  .  .  . 
Er  .  .  .  er.  .  .  .  Did  you  see  my  codfish?  Isn't  it  a  mag 
nificent  one.  I  am  very  fond  of  codfish  and  we  almost 
never  have  it  at  home.  So  just  now,  I  happened  to  be  pars 
ing  Jonathan  Howes' — he  is  the  —  er  —  fishdealer,  you 
"know,  and  .  .  .Jonathan  is  a  very  regular  attendant  at  my 
Sunday  mom  !ng  services.  He  is  —  is.  .  .  .  Dear  me.  .  .  . 
What  was  I  about  to  say  ?  " 

Being  switched  back  to  the  main  track  by  Albert  he  ex 
plained  that  he  had  seen  a  number  of  cod  in  Mr.  Howes' 
possession  and  had  bought  this  specimen.  Howes  had  lent 
him  the  basket 

"  And  the  newspaper,"  he  explained ;  adding,  with  tri- 


THE  PORTYGEE  323 

umph,  "  I  shall  dine  on  codfish  to-day,  I  am  happy  to  say." 

Judging  by  appearances  he  might  dine  and  sup  and  break 
fast  on  codfish  and  still  have  a  supply  remaining.  Albert 
insisted  on  carrying  the  spoil  to  the  parsonage.  He  was  do 
ing  nothing  in  particular  and  it  would  be  a  pleasure,  he  said. 
Mr.  Kendall  protested  for  the  first  minute  or  so  but  then 
forgot  just  what  the  protest  was  all  about  and  rambled 
garrulously  on  abou*  affairs  in  the  parish.  He  had  failed 
in  other  facult  Js,  but  his  flow  of  language  was  still  unim 
peded.  They  entered  the  gate  of  the  parsonage.  Albert  put 
the  basket  on  the  upper  step. 

"  There,"  he  said ;  "  now  I  must  go.  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Kendall." 

"  Oh,  but  you  aren't  going  ?  You  must  come  in  a  moment. 
I  want  to  give  you  the  manuscript  of  that  sermon  of  mine 
on  the  casting  down  of  Baal,  that  is  the  one  in  which  I  liken 
the  military  power  of  Germany  to  the  brazen  idol  which.  .  .  . 
Just  a  moment,  Albert.  The  manuscript  is  in  my  desk 

and Oh,  dear  me,  the  door  is  locked.  .  .  .  Helen, 

Helen!" 

He  was  shaking  the  door  and  shouting  his  daughter's 
name.  Albert  was  surprised  and  not  a  little  disturbed.  It 
had  not  occurred  to  him  that  Helen  could  be  at  home.  It 
is  true  that  before  he  left  for  New  York  his  grandmother 
had  said  that  she  was  planning  to  return  home  to  be  with 
her  father,  but  since  then  he  had  heard  nothing  more  con 
cerning  her.  Neither  of  his  grandparents  had  mentioned 
her  name  in  their  letters,  nor  since  his  arrival  the  day  before 
had  they  mentioned  it.  And  Mr.  Kendall  had  not  spoken 
of  her  during  their  walk  together.  Albert  was  troubled 
and  taken  aback.  In  one  way  he  would  have  liked  to  meet 
Helen  very  much  indeed.  They  had  not  met  since  before 
the  war.  But  he  did  not,  somehow,  wish  to  meet  her  just 
then.  He  did  not  wish  to  meet  anyone  who  would  speak 
of  Madeline,  or  ask  embarrassing  questions.  He  turned  to 

g°- 

"  Another  time,  Mr.  Kendall,"  he  said.  "  Good  morn- 
ing." 


324  THE  PORTYGEE 

But  he  had  gone  only  a  few  yards  when  the  reverend 
gentleman  was  calling  to  him  to  return. 

"  Albert !     Albert !  "  called  Mr.  Kendall. 

He  was  obliged  to  turn  back,  he  could  do  nothing  else, 
and  as  he  did  so  the  door  opened.  It  was  Helen  who 
opened  it  and  she  stood  there  upon  the  threshold  and  looked 
down  at  him.  For  a  moment,  a  barely  perceptible  interval, 
she  looked,  then  he  heard  her  catch  r-;r  breath  quickly  and 
saw  her  put  one  hand  upon  the  door  jamb  a^  if  for  support. 
The  next,  and  she  was  running  down  the  steps,  her  hands 
outstretched  and  the  light  of  welcome  in  her  eyes. 

"Why,  Albert  Speranza!"  she  cried.     "Why,  Albert!" 

He  seized  her  hands.  "  Helen !  "  he  cried,  and  added  in 
voluntarily,  "  My,  but  it's  good  to  see  you  again !  " 

She  laughed  and  so  did  he.  All  his  embarrassment  was 
gone.  They  were  like  two  children,  like  the  boy  and  girl 
who  had  known  each  other  in  the  old  days. 

"  And  when  did  you  get  here  ?  "  she  asked.  "  And  what 
do  you  mean  by  surprising  us  like  this  ?  I  saw  your  grand 
father  yesterday  morning  and  he  didn't  say  a  word  about 
your  coming." 

"  He  didn't  know  I  was  coming.  I  didn't  know  it  my 
self  until  the  day  before.  And  when  did  you  come  ?  Your 
father  didn't  tell  me  you  were  here.  I  didn't  know  until 
I  heard  him  call  your  name." 

He  was  calling  it  again.  Calling  it  and  demanding  at 
tention  for  his  precious  codfish. 

"  Yes,  Father,  yes,  in  a  minute,"  she  said.  Then  to  Albert, 
"  Come  in.  Oh,  of  course  you'll  come  in." 

"  Why,  yes,  if  I  won't  be  interfering  with  the  housekeep- 
ing." 

"  You  won't.  Yes,  Father,  yes,  I'm  coming.  Mercy, 
where  did  you  get  such  a  wonderful  fish  ?  Come  in,  Albert. 
As  soon  as  I  get  Father's  treasure  safe  in  the  hands  of 
Maria  I'll  be  back.  Father  will  keep  you  company.  No, 
pardon  me,  I  am  afraid  he  won't,  he's  gone  to  the  kitchen 
already.  And  I  shall  have  to  go,  too,  for  just  a  minute. 
I'll  hurry." 


THE  PORTYGEE  325 

She  hastened  to  the  kitchen,  whither  Mr.  Kendall,  tugging 
the  fish  basket,  had  preceded  her.  Albert  entered  the  little 
sitting-room  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the  window.  The 
room  looked  just  as  it  used  to  look,  just  as  neat,  just  as 
homelike,  just  as  well  kept.  And  when  she  came  back  and 
they  began  to  talk,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she,  too,  was  just 
as  she  used  to  be.  She  was  a  trifle  less  girlish,  more  wo 
manly  perhaps,  but  she  was  just  as  good  to  look  at,  just  as 
bright  and  cheerful  and  in  her  conversation  she  had 
the  same  quietly  certain  way  of  dealing  directly  with  the 
common-sense  realities  and  not  the  fuss  and  feathers.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  had  not  changed  at  all  that  she  her 
self  was  one  of  the  realities,  the  wholesome  home  realities, 
like  Captain  Zelotes  and  Olive  and  the  old  house  they  lived 
in.  He  told  her  so.  She  laughed. 

"  You  make  me  feel  as  ancient  as  the  pyramids,"  she  snid. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  the  ancient,"  he  declared. 
"  This  war  hasn't  changed  you  a  particle,  Helen,  but  it  has 
handed  me  an  awful  jolt.  At  times  I  feel  as  if  I  must  have 
sailed  with  Noah.  And  as  if  I  had  wasted  most  of  the 
time  since." 

She  smiled.     "Just  what  Jo  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  mean  —  well,  I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  do  mean, 
I  guess.  I  seem  to  have  an  unsettled  feeling.  I'm  not 
satisfied  with  myself.  And  as  I  remember  myself,"  he 
added,  with  a  shrug,  "that  condition  of  mind  was  not 
usual  with  me." 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  with 
the  appraising  look  in  her  eyes  which  he  remembered  so 
well,  which  had  always  reminded  him  of  the  look  in  his 
grandfather's  eyes,  and  which  when  a  boy  he  resented  so 
strongly. 

*'  Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  '*  I  think  you  have  changed.  Not 
because  you  say  you  feel  so  much  older  or  because  you  are 
uneasy  and  dissatisfied.  So  many  of  the  men  I  talked  with 
at  the  camp  hospital,  the  men  who  had  been  over  there  and 
had  been  wounded,  as  you  were,  said  they  felt  the  same 
way.  That  doesn't  mean  anything,  I  think,  except  that  it  is 


326  THE  PORTYGEE 

dreadfully  hard  to  get  readjusted  again  and  settle  down  to 
everyday  things.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  changed 
in  other  ways.  You  are  a  little  thinner,  but  broader,  too, 
aren't  you?  And  you  do  look  older,  especially  about  the 
eyes.  And,  of  course  —  well,  of  course  I  think  I  do  miss 
a  little  of  the  Albert  Speranza  I  used  to  know,  the  young 
chap  with  the  chip  on  his  shoulder  for  all  creation  to  knock 
off." 

"  Young  jackass! " 

"  Oh,  no  indeed.  He  had  his  good  points.  But  there ! 
we're  wasting  time  and  we  have  so  much  to  talk  about.  You 
—  why,  what  am  I  thinking  of  !  I  have  neglected  the  most 
important  thing  in  the  world.  And  you  have  just  returned 
from  New  York,  too.  Tell  me,  how  is  Madeline  Fosdick?  " 

"  She  is  well.  But  tell  me  about  yourself.  You  have 
been  in  all  sorts  of  war  work,  haven't  you.  Tell  me  about 
it." 

"  Oh,  my  work  didn't  amount  to  much.  At  first  I  '  Red 
Crossed '  in  Boston,  then  I  went  to  Devens  and  spent  a  long 
time  in  the  camp  hospital  there." 

"  Pretty  trying,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Why  —  yes,  some  of  it  was.  When  the  '  flu  '  epidemic 
was  raging  and  the  poor  fellows  were  having  such  a  dread 
ful  time  it  was  bad  enough.  After  that  I  was  sent  to  East- 
view.  In  the  hospital  there  I  met  the  boys  who  had  been 
wounded  on  the  other  side  and  who  talked  about  old  age 
and  dissatisfaction  and  uneasiness,  just  as  you  do.  But  my 
work  doesn't  count.  You  are  the  person  to  be  talked  about. 
Since  I  have  seen  you  you  have  become  a  famous  poet  and 
a  hero  and  — " 

"Don't!" 

She  had  been  smiling;  now  she  was  very  serious. 

*'  Forgive  me,  Albert,"  she  said.  "  We  have  been  joking, 
you  and  I,  but  there  was  a  time  when  we  —  when  your 
friends  did  not  joke.  Oh,  Albert,  if  you  could  have  seen 
the  Snow  place  as  I  saw  it  then.  It  was  as  if  all  the  hope 
and  joy  and  everything  worth  vvhile  had  been  crushed  out 
of  it.  Your  grandmother,  poor  little  woman,  was  brave  and 


THE  PORTYGEE  327 

quiet,  but  we  all  knew  she  was  trying  to  keep  up  for  Cap 
tain  Zelotes'  sake.  And  he  —  Albert,  you  can  scarcely  im 
agine  how  the  news  of  your  death  changed  him.  .  .  .  Ah! 
well,  it  was  a  hard  time,  a  dreadful  time  for  —  for  every 
one." 

She  paused  and  he,  turning  to  look  at  her,  saw  that  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  knew  of  her  affection  for  his 
grandparents  and  theirs  for  her.  Before  he  could  speak  she 
was  smiling  again. 

"  But  now  that  is  all  over,  isn't  it?  "  she  said.  "  And  the 
Snows  are  the  happiest  people  in  the  country,  I  do  believe. 
Ard  the  proudest,  of  course.  So  now  you  must  tell  me  all 
about  it,  about  your  experiences,  and  about  your  war  cross, 
and  about  your  literary  work  —  oh,  about  everything." 

The  all-inclusive  narrative  was  not  destined  to  get  very 
far.  Old  Mr.  Kendall  came  hurrying  in,  the  sermon  on  the 
casting  down  of  Baal  in  his  hand.  Thereafter  he  led, 
guided,  and  to  a  large  extent  monopolized  the  conversation. 
His  discourse  had  proceeded  perhaps  as  far  as  "  Thirdly  " 
when  Albert,  looking  at  his  watch,  was  surprised  to  find  it 
almost  dinner  time.  Mr.  Kendall,  still  talking,  departed  to 
his  study  to  hunt  for  another  sermon.  The  young  people 
said  good-by  in  his  absence. 

"  It  has  been  awfully  good  to  see  you  again,  Helen,"  de 
clared  Albert.  *'  But  I  told  you  that  in  the  beginning,  didn't 
I  ?  You  seem  like  —  well,  like  a  part  of  home,  you  know. 
And  home  means  something  to  me  nowadays." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  speak  of  South  Harniss  as  home. 
Of  course  I  know  you  don't  mean  to  make  it  a  permanent 
home  —  I  imagine  Madeline  would  have  something  to  say 
about  that  —  but  it  is  nice  to  have  you  speak  as  if  the  old 
town  meant  something  to  you." 

He  looked  about  him. 

*'  I  love  the  place,"  he  said  simply. 

"  I  am  glad.  So  do  I ;  but  then  I  have  lived  here  all  my 
life.  rine  next  time  we  talk  I  want  to  know  more  about 
your  plans  for  the  future  —  yours  and  Madeline's,  I  mean. 
How  proud  she  must  be  of  you." 


328  THE  PORTYGEE 

He  looked  up  at  her;  she  was  standing  upon  the  upper 
step  and  he  on  the  walk  below. 

"  Madeline  and  I  — "  he  began.  Then  he  stopped.  What 
was  the  use  ?  He  did  not  want  to  talk  about  it.  He  waved 
his  hand  and  turned  away. 

After  dinner  he  went  out  into  the  kitchen  to  talk  to  Mrs. 
Ellis,  who  was  washing  dishes.  She  was  doing  it  as  she  did 
all  her  share  of  the  housework,  with  an  energy  and  capa 
bility  which  would  have  delighted  the  soul  of  a  "  scientific 
management "  expert.  Except  when  under  the  spell  of  a 
sympathetic  attack  Rachel  was  ever  distinctly  on  the  job. 

And  of  course  she  was,  as  always,  glad  to  see  her  protege, 
her  Robert  Penfold.  The  proprietary  interest  which  she 
had  always  felt  in  him  was  more  than  ever  hers  now.  Had 
not  she  been  the  sole  person  to  hint  at  the  possibility  of  his 
being  alive,  when  every  one  else  had  given  him  up  for  dead  ? 
Had  not  she  been  the  only  one  to  suggest  that  he  might 
have  been  taken  prisoner?  Had  she  ever  despaired  of  see 
ing  him  again  —  on  this  earth  and  in  the  flesh?  Indeed, 
she  had  not;  at  least,  she  had  never  admitted  it,  if  she  had. 
So  then,  hadn't  she  a  right  to  feel  that  she  owned  a  share  in 
him?  No  one  ventured  to  dispute  that  right. 

She  turned  and  smiled  over  one  ample  shoulder  when  he 
entered  the  kitchen. 

"  Hello,"  she  hailed  cheerfully.  "  Come  calling  have  you, 
Robert  —  Albert,  I  mean  ?  It  would  have  been  a  great  help 
to  me  if  you'd  been  christened  Robert.  I  call  you  that  so 
much  to  myself  it  comes  almost  more  natural  than  the  other. 
On  account  of  you  bein'  so  just  like  Robert  Penfold  in  the 
book,  you  know,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  Rachel,  I  understand,"  put  in  Al 
bert  hastily.  He  was  not  in  the  mood  to  listen  to  a  disserta 
tion  on  a  text  taken  from  Foul  Play.  He  looked  about  the 
room  and  sighed  happily. 

"There  isn't  a  speck  anywhere,  is  there?"  he  observed. 
"  It  is  just  as  it  used  to  be,  just  as  I  used  to  think  ot  it  when 
I  was  laid  up  over  there.  When  I  wanted  to  try  and  eat  a 
bit,  so  as  to  keep  what  strength  I  had,  I  would  think  about 


THE  PORTYGEE  329 

this  kitchen  of  yours,  Rachel.  It  didn't  do  to  think  of  the 
places  where  the  prison  stuff  was  cooked.  They  were  not  — 
appetizing." 

Mrs.  Ellis  nodded.  "  I  presume  likely  not,"  she  observed. 
'*  Well,  don't  tell  me  about  'em.  Ve  just  scrubbed  this 
kitchen  from  stem  to  stern.  If  I  heard  about  those  prison 
places,  I'd  feel  lik^  staitin'  right  in  and  scrubbin'  it  all 
over  again,  I  know  1  should.  .  .  .  Dirty  pigs !  I  wish  I  had 
the  scourin'  of  some  of  those  Germans !  I'd  —  I  don't 
know  as  I  wouldn't  skin  'em  alive." 

Albert  laughed.  "  Some  of  them  pretty  nearly  deserved 
it,"  he  said. 

Rachel  smiled  grimly.  "  Well,  let's  talk  about  nice 
things,"  she  said.  *'  Oh,  Issy  Price  was  here  this  forenoon ; 
Cap'n  Lote  sent  him  over  from  the  office  on  an  errand,  and 
he  said  he  saw  you  and  Mr.  Kendall  goin'  down  street  to 
gether  just  as  he  was  comin'  along.  He  hollered  at  you, 
but  you  didn't  hear  him.  'Cordin'  to  Issachar's  tell,  you  was 
luggin'  a  basket  with  Jonah's  whale  in  it,  or  somethin'  like 
that." 

Albert  described  his  encounter  with  the  minister.  Rachel 
was  much  interested. 

"  Oh,  so  you  saw  Helen,"  she  said.  "  Well,  I  guess  she 
was  surprised  to  see  you." 

"  Not  more  than  I  was  to  see  her.  I  didn't  know  she  was 
in  town.  Not  a  soul  had  mentioned  it  —  you  nor  Grand 
father  nor  Grandmother." 

The  housekeeper  answered  without  turning  her  head. 
"  Guess  we  had  so  many  things  to  talk  about  we  forgot  it," 
she  said.  *'  Yes,  she's  been  here  Over  a  week  now.  High 
time,  from  what  I  hear.  The  poor  old  parson  has  failed 
consider'ble  and  Maria  Price's  housekeepin'  and  cookin'  is 
enough  to  make  a  well  man  sick  —  or  wish  he  was.  But  he'll 
be  looked  after  now.  Helen  will  look  after  him.  She's  the 
most  capable  girl  there  is  in  Ostable  County.  Did  she  tell 
you  about  what  she  done  in  the  Red  Cross  and  the  hos 
pitals?" 

"  She  said  something  about  it,  not  very  much." 


330  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  Um-hm.  She  wouldn't,  bein'  Helen  Kendall.  But  the 
Red  Cross  folks  said  enough,  and  they're  sayin'  it  yet. 
Why—" 

She  went  on  to  tell  of  Helen's  work  in  the  Red  Cross  de 
pots  and  in  the  campL  and  hospitals.  It  was  an  inspiring 
story. 

*'  There  they  was,"  said  Rachel,  "  the  poor  things,  just 
boys  most  of  'em,  dyin'  of  that  dreadful  influenza  like  rats, 
as  you  might  say.  And,  of  course  it's  dreadful  catchin',  and 
a  good  many  was  more  afraid  of  it  than  they  would  have 
been  of  bullets,  enough  sight.  But  Helen  Kendall  wa'n't 
afraid  —  no,  siree!  Why — " 

And  so  on.  Albert  listened,  hearing  most  of  it,  but  losing 
some  as  his  thoughts  wandered  back  to  the  Helen  he  had 
known  as  a  boy  and  the  Helen  he  had  met  that  forenoon. 
Her  face,  as  she  had  welcomed  him  at  the  parsonage  door  — 
it  was  surprising  how  clearly  it  showed  before  his  mind's 
eye.  He  had  thought  at  first  that  she  had  not  changed  in  ap 
pearance.  That  was  not  quite  true  —  she  had  changed  a 
little,  but  it  was  merely  the  fulfillment  of  a  promise,  that  was 
all.  Her  eyes,  her  smile  above  a  hospital  bed  —  he  could 
imagine  what  they  must  have  seemed  like  to  a  lonely,  home 
sick  boy  wrestling  with  the  "  flu." 

"  And,  don't  talk !  "  he  heard  the  housekeeper  say,  as  he 
drifted  out  of  his  reverie,  *'  if  she  wa'n't  popular  around  that 
hospital,  around  both  hospitals,  fur's  that  goes!  The  pa 
tients  idolized  her,  and  the  other  nurses  they  loved  her,  and 
the  doctors  — " 

"  Did  they  love  her,  too  ?  "  Albert  asked,  with  a  smile,  as 
she  hesitated. 

She  laughed.  "  Some  of  'em  did,  I  cal'late,"  she  an 
swered.  "  You  see,  I  got  most  of  my  news  about  it  all  from 
Bessie  Ryder,  Cornelius  Ryder's  niece,  lives  up  on  the  road 
to  the  Center;  you  used  to  know  her,  Albert.  Bessie  was 
nursin'  in  that  same  hospital,  the  one  Helen  was  at  first. 
'Cordin'  to  her,  there  was  some  doctor  or  officer  tryin'  to 
shine  up  to  Helen  most  of  the  time.  When  she  was  at  East- 
view,  so  Bessie  heard,  there  was  a  real  big-bug  in  the  Army,. 


THE  PORTYGEE  331 


a  sort  of  Admiral  or  Commodore  amongst  the  doctors  he 
was,  and  he  was  trottin'  after  her,  or  would  have  been  if 
she'd  let  him.  'Course  you  have  to  make  some  allowances 
for  Bessie  —  she  wouldn't  be  a  Ryder  if  she  didn't  take  so 
many  words  to  say  so  little  that  the  truth  gets  stretched 
pretty  thin  afore  she  finished  —  but  there  must  have  been 
somethin'  in  it.  And  all  about  'her  bein'  such  a  wonderful 
nurse  and  doin'  so  much  for  the  Red  Cross  I  know  is  true. 
...  Eh  ?  Did  you  say  anything,  Albert  ?  " 

Albert  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Rachel,"  he  replied.  "  I 
didn't  speak." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  or  somebody  say  somethin'.  I  — 
Why,  Laban  Keeler,  what  are  you  doin'  away  from  your 
desk  this  time  in  the  afternoon  ?  " 

Laban  grinned  as  he  entered  the  kitchen. 

"  Did  I  hear  you  say  you  thought  you  heard  somebody 
sayin'  somethin',  Rachel  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  That's  queer, 
ain't  it?  Seemed  to  me  I  heard  somebody  sayin'  somethin' 
as  I  come  up  the  path  just  now.  Seemed  as  if  they  was 
sayin'  it  right  here  in  the  kitchen,  too.  'Twasn't  your  voice, 
Albert,  and  it  couldn't  have  been  Rachel's,  'cause  she  never 
talks  —  'specially  to  you.  It's  too  bad,  the  prejudice  she's 
got  against  you,  Albert,"  he  added,  with  a  wink.  "  Um-hm, 
too  bad  —  yes,  'tis  —  yes,  yes." 

Mrs.  Ellis  sniffed. 

"  And  that's  what  the  newspapers  in  war  time  used  to  call: 
—  er  —  er  —  oh,  dear,  what  was  it?  —  camel  —  seems's  if 
'twas  somethin'  about  a  camel  — " 

"  Camouflage  ?  "  suggested  Albert. 

•'  That's  it.  All  that  talk  about  me  is  just  camouflage  to- 
save  him  answerin'  my  question.  But  he's  goin'  to  answer 
it.  What  are  you  doin'  away  from  the  office  this  time  in  the 
afternoon,  I  want  to  know  ?  " 

Mr.  Keeler  perched  his  small  figure  on  the  corner  of  the 
kitchen  table. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Rachel,"  he  said  solemnly. 
*'  I'm  here  to  do  what  the  folks  in  books  call  demand  an  ex 
planation.  You  and  I,  Rachel,  are  just  as  good  as  engaged 


THE  PORTYGEE 


to  be  married,  ain't  we?  I've  been  keepin'  company  with 
you  for  the  last  twenty,  forty  or  sixty  years,  some  such  spell 
as  that.  Now,  just  as  I'm  gettin'  used  to  it  and  beginnin' 
to  consider  it  a  settled  arrangement,  as  you  may  say,  I  come 
into  this  house  and  find  you  shut  up  in  the  kitchen  with  an 
other  man.  Now,  what  —  " 

The  housekeeper  advanced  toward  him  with  the  dripping 
dishcloth. 

*'  Laban  Keeler,"  she  threatened,  "  if  you  don't  stop  your 
foolishness  and  answer  my  question,  I  declare  I'll  —  " 

Laban  slid  from  his  perch  and  retired  behind  the  table. 

"  Another  man,"  he  repeated.  "  And  some  folks  —  not 
many,  of  course,  but  some  —  might  be  crazy  enough  to  say 
he  was  a  better-lookin'  man  than  I  am.  Now,  bein'  ragin' 
jealous,  —  All  right,  Rachel,  all  right,  I  surrender.  Don't 
hit  me  with  all  those  soapsuds.  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to 
the  office  foamin'  at  the  mouth.  The  reason  I'm  here  is 
that  I  had  to  go  down  street  to  see  about  the  sheathin'  for 
the  Red  Men's  lodge  room.  Issy  took  the  order,  but  he 
wasn't  real  sure  whether  'twas  sheathin'  or  scantlin'  they 
wanted,  so  I  told  Cap'n  Lote  I'd  run  down  myse1f  and 
straighten  it  out.  On  the  way  back  I  saw  you  two  through 
the  window  and  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  and  worry  you.  So 
here  I  am." 

Mrs.  Ellis  nodded.  "  Yes,"  she  sniffed.  "  And  all  that 
camel  —  camel  —  Oh,  dear,  what  does  ail  me?  All  that 
camel  —  No  use,  I've  forgot  it  again." 

*'  Never  mind,  Rachel,"  said  Mr.  Keeler  consolingly. 
"All  the  —  er  —  menagerie  was  just  that  and  nothin'  more. 
Oh,  by  the  way,  Al,"  he  added,  *'  speakin'  of  camels  —  don't 
you  think  I've  done  pretty  well  to  go  so  long  without  any  — 
er  —  liquid  nourishment  ?  Not  a  drop  since  you  and  I  en 
listed  together.  .  .  .  Oh,  she  knows  about  it  now,"  he 
added,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  in  the  housekeeper's  direc 
tion.  "  I  felt  'twas  fairly  safe  and  settled,  so  I  told  her.  I 
told  her.  Yes,  yes,  yes.  Um-hm,  so  I  did." 

Albert  turned  to  the  lady. 

"  You  should  be  very  proud  of  him,  Rachel,"  he  said 


THE  PORTYGEE  333 

seriously.  "  I  think  I  realize  a  little  something  of  the  fight 
he  has  made,  and  it  is  bully.  You  should  be  proud  of 
him." 

Rachel  looked  down  at  the  little  man.     . 

4<  I  am,"  she  said  quietly.     4<  I  guess  likely  he  knows  it." 

Laban  smiled.  "  The  folks  in  Washington  are  doin'  their 
best  to  help  me  out,"  he  said.  "  They're  goin'  to  take  the 
stuff  away  from  everybody  so's  to  make  sure  /  don't  get 
any  more.  They'll  probably  put  up  a  monument  to  me  for 
startin'  the  thing;  don't  you  think  they  will,  Al?  Eh? 
Don't  you,  now  ?  " 

Albert  and  he  walked  up  the  road  together.  Laban  told 
a  little  more  of  his  battle  with  John  Barleycorn. 

'*  I  had  half  a  dozen  spells  when  I  had  to  set  my  teeth, 
those  I've  got  left,  and  hang  on,"  he  said.  "  And  the  hang- 
iii'-on  wa'n't  as  easy  as  stickin'  to  fly-paper,  neither.  Hon 
est,  though,  I  think  the  hardest  was  when  the  news  came 
that  you  was  alive,  Al.  I  —  I  just  wanted  to  start  in  and 
celebrate.  Wanted  to  whoop  her  up,  I  did."  He  paused  a 
moment  and  then  added,  "  I  tried  whoopin'  on  sass'parilla 
and  vanilla  sody,  but  'twa'n't  satisfactory.  Couldn't  seem 
to  raise  a  real  loud  whisper,  let  alone  a  whoop.  No,  I 
couldn't  —  no,  no." 

Albert  laughed  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  You're  all  right,  Labe,"  he  declared.  "  I  know  you, 
ana  I  say  so." 

Laban  slowly  shook  his  head.  His  smile,  as  he  answered, 
was  rather  pathetic. 

"  T'm  a  long,  long  ways  from  bein*  all  right,  Al,"  he  said. 
*'  A  long  ways  from  that,  I  am.  If  I'd  made  my  fight  thirty 
year  ago,  I  might  have  been  nigher  to  amountin'  to  some- 
thin'.  .  .  .  Oh,  well,  for  Rachel's  sake  I'm  glad  I've  made 
it  now.  She's  stuck  to  me  when  everybody  would  have 
praised  her  for  chuckin'  me  to  Tophet.  I  was  readin'  one 
of  Thackeray's  books  t'other  night  —  Henry  Esmond,  'twas; 
you've  read  it,  Al,  of  course;  I  was  readin'  it  t'other  night 
for  the  ninety-ninth  time  or  thereabouts,  and  I  run  across 
the  place  where  it  says  it's  strange  what  a  man  can  do  and  a 


334  THE  PORTYGEE 

woman  still  keep  thinkin'  he's  an  ^ngel.  That's  true,  too, 
Al.  Not,"  with  the  return  of  the  slight  smile,  "  that  Rachel 
ever  went  so  far  as  to  call  me  an  angel.  No,  no.  There's 
limits  where  you  can't  stretch  her  common-sense  any  far 
ther.  Callin'  me  an  angel  would  be  just  past  the  limit. 
Yes,  yes,  yes.  I  guess  so." 

They  spoke  of  Captain  Zelotes  and  Olive  and  of  their  grief 
and  discouragement  when  the  news  of  Albert's  supposed 
death  reached  them. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Labe,  "  I  believe  Helen  Kendall's 
comin'  there  for  a  week  did  'em  more  good  than  anything 
else.  She  got  away  from  her  soldier  nursin'  somehow  — 
must  have  been  able  to  pull  the  strings  consider'ble  harder'n 
the  average  to  do  it  —  and  just  came  down  to  the  Snow  place 
and  sort  of  took  charge  along  with  Rachel.  Course  she 
didn't  live  there,  her  father  thought  she  was  visitin'  him,  I 
guess  likely,  but  she  was  with  Cap'n  Lote  and  Olive  most  of 
the  time.  Rachel  says  she  never  made  a  fuss,  you  under 
stand,  just  was  there  and  helped  and  was  quiet  and  soft- 
spoken  and  capable  and  —  and  comfortin',  that's  about  the 
word,  I  guess.  Rachel  always  thought  a  sight  of  Helen 
afore  that,  but  since  then  she  swears  by  her." 

That  evening  —  or,  rather,  that  night,  for  they  did  not 
leave  the  sitting  room  until  after  twelve  —  Mrs.  Snow  heard 
her  grandson  walking  the  floor  of  his  room,  and  called  to 
ask  if  he  was  sick. 

"  I'm  all  right,  Grandmother,"  he  called  in  reply.  "  Just 
taking  a  little  exercise  before  turning  in,  that's  all.  Sorry 
if  I  disturbed  you." 

The  exercise  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  almost  entirely  men 
tal,  the  pacing  up  and  down  merely  an  unconscious  physical 
accompaniment.  Albert  Speranza  was  indulging  in  intro 
spection.  He  was  reviewing  and  assorting  his  thoughts  and 
his  impulses  and  trying  to  determine  just  what  'they  were 
and  why  they  were  and  whither  they  were  tending.  It  was 
a  mental  and  spiritual  picking  to  pieces  and  the  result  was 
humiliating  and  in  its  turn  resulted  in  a  brand-new  deter 
mination. 


THE  PORTYGEE  335 

Ever  since  his  meeting  with  Helen,  a  meeting  which  had 
been  quite  unpremeditated,  he  had  thought  of  but  little  ex 
cept  her.  During  his  talk  with  her  in  the  parsonage  sitting 
room  he  had  been  —  there  was  no  use  pretending  to  himself 
that  it  was  otherwise  —  more  contented  with  the  world,  more 
optir.nstic,  happier,  than  he  had  been  for  months,  it  seemed 
to  him  for  years.  Even  while  he  was  speaking  to  her  of  his 
uneasiness  and  dissatisfaction  he  was  dimly  conscious  that 
at  that  moment  he  was  less  uneasy  and  less  dissatisfied,  con 
scious  that  the  solid  ground  was  beneath  his  feet  at  last,  that 
here  was  the  haven  after  the  storm,  here  was  — 

He  pulled  up  sharply.  This  line  of  thought  was  silly, 
dangerous,  wicked.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Three  days  before, 
only  three  days,  he  had  left  Madeline  Fosdick,  the  girl  whom 
he  had  worshiped,  adored,  and  who  had  loved  him.  Yes, 
there  was  no  use  pretending  there,  cither ;  he  and  Madeline 
had  loved  each  other.  Of  course  he  realized  now  that  their 
love  had  nothing  permanently  substantial  about  it.  It  was 
the  romance  of  youth,  a  dream  which  they  had  shared  to 
gether  and  from  which,  fortunately  for  both,  they  had 
awakened  in  time.  And  of  course  he  realized,  too,  that  the 
awakening  had  begun  long,  long  before  the  actual  parting 
took  place.  But  nevertheless  only  three  days  had  elapsed 
since  th?t  parting,  and  now  —  What  sort  of  a  man  was  he? 

Was  he  like  his  father?  Was  it  what  Captain  Zelotes 
used  to  call  the  "  Portygee  streak  "  which  was  now  cropping 
out?  The  opera  singer  had  been  of  the  butterfly  type  —  in 
his  later  years  a  middle-aged  butterfly  whose  wings  creaked 
somewhat  —  but  decidedly  a  flitter  from  flower  to  flower. 
As  a  boy,  Albert  had  been  aware,  in  an  uncertain  fashion, 
of  his  father's  fondness  for  the  sex.  Now,  older,  his  judg 
ment  of  his  parent  was  not  as  lenient,  was  clearer,  more  dis 
cerning.  He  understood  now.  Was  his  own  "  Portygee 
streak,"  his  inherited  temperament,  responsible  for  his  leav 
ing  one  girl  on  a  Tuesday  and  on  Friday  finding  his  thoughts 
concerned  so  deeply  with  another? 

Well,  no  matter,  no  matter.  One  thing  was  certain  — 
Helen  should  never  know  of  that  feeling.  He  would  crush 


336  THE  PORTYGEE 

it  down,  he  would  use  his  common-sense.  He  would  be  a 
decent  man  and  not  a  blackguard.  For  he  had  had  his 
chance  and  had  tossed  it  away.  What  would  sne  think  of 
him  now  if  he  came  to  her  after  Madeline  had  thrown  him 
over  —  that  is  what  Mrs.  Fosdick  would  say,  would  take 
pains  that  every  one  else  should  say,  that  Madeline  had 
thrown  him  over  —  what  would  Helen  think  of  him  if  he 
came  to  her  with  a  second-hand  love  like  that  ? 

And  of  course  she  would  not  think  of  him  as  a  lover  at 
all.  Why  should  she?  In  the  boy  and  girl  days  she  had 
refused  to  let  him  speak  of  such  a  thing.  She  was  his 
friend,  a  glorious,  a  wonderful  friend,  but  that  was  all,  all 
she  ever  dreamed  of  being. 

Well,  that  was  right ;  that  was  as  it  should  be.  He  should 
be  thankful  for  such  a  friend.  He  was,  of  course.  And  he 
would  concentrate  all  his  energies  upon  his  work,  upon  his 
writing.  That  was  it,  that  was  it.  Good,  it  was  settled ! 

So  he  went  to  bed  and,  eventually,  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHILE  dressing  in  the  cold  light  of  dawn  his  per 
turbations  of  the  previous  night  appeared  in 
retrospect  as  rather  boyish  and  unnecessary. 
His  sudden  and  unexpected  meeting  with  Helen  and  their 
talk  together  had  tended  to  make  him  over-sentimental,  that 
was  all.  He  and  she  were  to  be  friends,  of  course,  but  there 
was  no  real  danger  of  his  allowing  himself  to  think  of  her 
except  as  a  friend.  No,  indeed.  He  opened  the  bureau 
drawer  in  search  of  a  tie,  and  there  was  the  package  of 
"  snapshots  "  just  where  he  had  tossed  them  that  night  when 
he  first  returned  home  after  muster-out.  Helen's  photo- 
graph  was  the  uppe:most.  He  looked  at  it  —  looked  at  it 
for  several  minutes.  Then  he  closed  the  drawer  again  and 
hurriedly  finished  his  dressing.  A  part,  at  least,  of  his  re 
solve  of  the  night  before  had  been  sound  common-sense. 
His  brain  was  suffering  from  lack  of  exercise.  Work  was 
what  he  needed,  hard  work. 

So  to  work  he  went  without  delay.  A  place  to  work  in 
was  the  first  consideration.  He  suggested  the  garret,  but 
his  grandmother  and  Rachel  held  up  their  hands  and  lifted 
their  voices  in  protest. 

<l  No,  indeed"  declared  Olive.  "  Zelotes  has  always 
talked  about  writin'  folks  and  poets  starvin'  in  garrets.  If 
you  went  up  attic  to  work  he'd  be  teasin'  me  from  mornin* 
to  night.  Besides,  you'd  freeze  up  there,  if  the  smell  of 
moth-balls  didn't  choke  you  first.  No,  you  wait ;  I've  got  a 
notion.  There's  that  old  table  desk  of  Zelotes'  in  the  settin* 
room.  He  don't  hardly  ever  use  it  nowadays.  You  take  it 
upstairs  to  your  own  room  and  work  in  there.  You  can 
have  the  oil-heater  to  keep  you  warm." 

So  that  was  the  arrangement  made,  and  in  his  own  room 
Albert  sat  down  at  the  battered  old  desk,  wb  i  had  been 

337 


338  THE  PORTYGEE 

not  only  his  grandfather's  but  his  great-grandfather's  prop 
erty,  to  concentrate  upon  the  first  of  the  series  of  stories  or 
dered  by  the  New  York  magazine.  He  had  alreadv  decided 
upon  the  general  scheme  for  the  series.  A  boy,  ragamuffin 
son  of  immigrant  parents,  rising,  after  a  wrong  start,  by 
sheer  grit  and  natural  shrewdness  and  ability,  step  by  step 
to  competence  and  success,  winning  a  place  in  and  the  re 
spect  of  a  community.  There  was  nothing  new  in  the  idea 
itself.  Some  things  his  soldier  chum  Mike  Kelley  had  told 
him  concerning  an  uncle  of  his  —  Mike's  —  suggested  it. 
The  novelty  he  hoped  might  come  from  the  incidents,  the 
various  problems  faced  by  his  hero,  the  solution  of  each  be 
ing  a  step  upward  in  the  latter's  career  and  in  the  formation 
of  his  character.  He  wanted  to  write,  if  he  could,  the  story 
of  the  building  of  one  more  worth-while  American,  for  Al 
bert  Speranza,  like  so  many  others  set  to  thinking  by  the 
war  and  the  war  experiences,  was  realizing  strongly  that  the 
gabbling  of  a  formula  and  the  swearing  of  an  oath  of  nat 
uralization  did  not  necessarily  make  an  American.  There 
were  too  many  eager  to  take  that  oath  with  tongue  in  cheek 
and  knife  in  sleeve.  Too  many,  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives  breathing  and  speaking  as  free  men,  thanks  to  the 
protection  of  Columbia's  arm,  yet  planning  to  stab  their  pro 
tectress  in  the  back. 

So  Albert's  hero  was  to  be  an  American,  an  American  to 
whom  the  term  meant  the  highest  and  the  best.  If  he  had 
hunted  a  lifetime  for  something  to  please  and  interest  his 
grandfather  he  could  not  have  hit  the  mark  nearer  the  cen 
ter.  Cap'n  Lote,  of  course,  pretended  a  certain  measure  of 
indifference,  but  that  was  for  Olive  and  Rachel's  benefit. 
It  would  never  do  for  the  scoffer  to  become  a  convert  openly 
and  at  once.  The  feminine  members  of  the  household  clam 
ored  each  evening  to  have  the  author  read  aloud  his  day's 
installment.  The  captain  sniffed. 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,"  with  a  groan,  "  now  I've  got  to  hear  all 
that  made-up  stuff  that  happened  to  a  parcel  of  made-up 
folks  that  never  lived  and  never  will.  Waste  of  time,  waste 
of  time.  Where's  my  Transcript?  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  339 

But  it  was  noticed  —  and  commented  upon,  you  may  be 
sure  —  by  his  wife  and  housekeeper  that  the  Transcript  was 
likely  to  be,  before  the  reading  had  progressed  far,  either 
in  the  captain's  lap  or  on  the  floor.  And  when  the  discussion 
following  the  reading  was  under  way  Captain  Zelotes'  opin 
ions  were  expressed  quite  as  freely  as  any  one's  else.  Laban 
Keeler  got  into  the  habit  of  dropping  in  to  listen. 

One  fateful  evening  the  reading  was  interrupted  by  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Kendall.  The  reverend  gentleman  had  come 
to  make  a  pastoral  call.  Albert's  hero  was  in  the  middle  of 
a  situation.  The  old  clergyman  insisted  upon  the  continua 
tion  of  the  reading.  It  was  continued  and  so  was  the  dis 
cussion  following  it ;  in  fact,  the  discussion  seemed  likely  to 
go  on  indefinitely,  for  the  visitor  showed  no  inclination  of 
leaving.  At  ten-thirty  his  daughter  appeared  to  inquire 
about  him  and  to  escort  him  home.  Then  he  went,  but 
under  protest.  Albert  walked  to  the  parsonage  with  them. 

"Now  we've  started  somethin',"  groaned  the  captain,  as 
the  door  closed.  "  That  old  critter'll  be  cruisin'  over  here 
six  nights  out  of  five  from  now  on  to  teH  Al  just  how  to 
spin  those  yarns  of  his.  And  he'll  talk  —  and  talk  —  and 
talk.  Ain't  it  astonishin'  how  such  a  feeble-lookin'  craft  as 
he  is  can  keep  blowin'  off  steam  that  way  and  still  be  able 
to  navigate." 

His  wife  took  him  to  task.  "  The  idea,"  she  protested, 
**  of  your  callin'  your  own  minister  a  '  critter ' !  I  should 
think  you'd  be  ashamed.  .  .  .  But,  oh,  dear,  I'm  afraid  he 
will  be  over  here  an  awful  lot." 

Her  fears  were  realized.  Mr.  Kendall,  although  not  on 
hand  "  six  nights  out  of  five,"  as  the  captain  prophesied, 
was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Snow  place.  As  Albert's 
story-writing  progressed  the  discussions  concerning  the 
growth  and  development  of  the  hero's  character  became 
more  and  more  involved  and  spirited.  They  were  for  the 
most  part  confined,  when  the  minister  was  present,  to  him 
and  Mrs.  Snow  and  Rachel.  Laban,  if  he  happened  to  be 
there,  sat  well  back  in  the  corner,  saying  little  except  when 
appealed  to,  and  then  answering  with  one  of  his  dry,  char- 


340  THE  PORTYGEE 

aoteristic  observations.  Captain  Lote,  in  the  rocker,  his 
legs  crossed,  his  hand  stroking  his  beard,  and  with  the 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  listened,  and  spoke  but  seldom.  Occa 
sionally,  when  he  and  his  grandson  exchanged  glances,  the 
captain  winked,  indicating  appreciation  of  the  situation. 

*'  Say,  Al,"  he  said,  one  evening,  after  the  old  clergyman 
had  departed,  "  it  must  be  kind  of  restful  to  have  your  work 
all  laid  out  for  you  this  way.  Take  it  to-night,  for  instance ; 
I  don't  see  but  what  everything's  planned  for  this  young 
feller  you're  writin'  about  so  you  nor  he  won't  have  to  think 
for  yourselves  for  a  hundred  year  or  such  matter.  Course 
there's  some  little  difference  in  the  plans.  Rachel  wants  him 
to  get  wrecked  on  an  island  or  be  put  in  jail,  and  Mother, 
she  wants  him  to  be  a  soldier  and  a  poet,  and  Mr.  Kendall 
thinks  it's  high  time  he  joined  the  church  or  signed  the 
pledge  or  stopped  swearin'  or  chewin'  gum." 

"  Zelotes,  how  ridiculous  you  do  talk !  " 

"All  right,  Mother,  all  right.  What  strikes  me,  AI,  is 
they  don't  any  of  'em  stop  to  ask  you  what  you  mean  to 
have  him  do.  Course  I  know  'tain't  any  of  your  business, 
but  still  —  seems  's  if  you  might  be  a  little  mite  interested  in 
the  boy  yourself." 

Albert  laughed.  '*  Don't  worry,  Grandfather,"  he  said. 
*'  I'm  enjoying  it  all  very  much.  And  some  of  the  sugges 
tions  may  be  just  what  I'm  looking  for." 

"  Well,  son,  we'll  hope  so.  Say,  Labe,  I've  got  a  notion 
for  keepin'  the  minister  from  doin'  all  the  talkin.'  We'll 
ask  Issy  Price  to  drop  in ;  eh  ?  " 

Laban  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know,  Cap'n  Lote,"  he 
observed.  "  Sounds  to  me  a  good  deal  like  lettin'  in  a  hurri 
cane  to  blow  out  a  match  with.  .  .  .  Um-hm.  Seems  so  to 
me.  Yes,  yes." 

Mr.  Kendall's  calls  would  have  been  more  frequent  still 
had  Helen  not  interfered.  Very  often,  when  he  came  she 
herself  dropped  in  a  little  later  and  insisted  upon  his  making 
an  early  start  for  home.  Occasionally  she  came  with  him. 
She,  too,  seemed  much  interested  in  the  progress  of  the 
stories,  but  she  offered  few  suggestions.  When  directly 


THE  PORTYGEE  341 

appealed  to,  she  expressed  her  views,  and  they  were  worth 
while. 

Albert  was  resolutely  adhering  to  his  determination  not 
to  permit  himself  to  think  of  her  except  as  a  friend.  That 
is,  he  hoped  he  was;  thoughts  are  hard  to  control  at  times. 
He  saw  her  often.  They  met  on  the  street,  at  church  on 
Sunday  —  his  grandmother  was  so  delighted  when  he  ac 
companied  her  to  "  meeting  "  that  he  did  so  rather  more 
frequently,  perhaps,  than  he  otherwise  would  —  at  the  homes 
of  acquaintances,  and,  of  course,  at  the  Snow  place.  When 
she  walked  home  with  her  father  after  a  "  story  evening  " 
he  usually  went  with  them  as  additional  escort. 

She  had  not  questioned  him  concerning  Madeline  since 
their  first  meeting  that  morning  r,t  the  parsonage.  He  knew, 
therefore,  that  some  one  —  his  grandmother,  probably  — 
had  told  her  of  the  broken  engagement.  When  they  were 
alone  together  they  talked  of  many  things,  casual  things,  the 
generalities  of  which,  so  he  told  himself,  a  conversation  be 
tween  mere  friends  was  composed.  But  occasionally,  after 
doing  escort  duty,  after  Mr.  Kendall  had  gone  into  the 
house  to  take  his  "  throat  medicine  "  —  a  medicine  which 
Captain  Zelotes  declared  would  have  to  be  double-strength 
pretty  soon  to  offset  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  story  evenings 
—  they  talked  of  matters  more  specific  and  which  more 
directly  concerned  themselves.  She  spoke  of  her  hospital 
work,  of  her  teaching  before  the  war,  and  of  her  plans 
for  the  future.  The  latter,  of  course,  were  very  indefinite 
now. 

*'  Father  needs  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  not  leave  him 
while  'he  lives." 

They  spoke  of  Albert's  work  and  plans  most  of  all.  He 
began  to  ask  for  advice  concerning  the  former.  When 
those  stories  were  written,  what  then  ?  She  hoped  he  would 
try  the  novel  he  had  hinted  at. 

*'  I'm  sure  you  can  do  it,"  she  said.  "  And  you  mustn't 
give  up  the  poems  altogether.  It  was  the  poetry,  you  know, 
which  was  the  beginning." 

"  You  were  the  beginning,"  he  said  impulsively.     "  Per- 


342  THE  PORTYGEE 

haps  I  should  never  have  written  at  all  if  you  hadn't  urged 
me,  shamed  me  out  of  my  laziness." 

"  I  was  a  presuming  young  person,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said. 
"  I  wonder  you  didn't  tell  me  to  mind  my  own  business.  I 
believe  you  did,  but  I  wouldn't  mind." 

June  brought  the  summer  weather  and  the  summer 
boarders  to  South  Hprniss.  One  of  the  news  sensations 
which  came  at  the  same  time  was  that  the  new  Fosdick  cot 
tage  had  been  sold.  The  people  who  had  occupied  it  the 
previous  season  had  bought  it.  Mrs.  Fosdick,  so  rumor 
said,  was  not  strong  and  her  doctors  had  decided  that  the 
sea  air  did  not  agree  with  her. 

*'  Crimustee ! "  exclaimed  Issachar,  as  he  imparted  the 
news  to  Mr.  Keeler,  *'  if  that  ain't  the  worst.  Spend  your 
money,  and  a  pile  of  money,  too,  buyin'  ground,  layin'  of  it 
out  to  build  a  house  on  to  live  in,  then  buildin'  that  house 
and  then,  by  crimus,  sellin'  it  to  somebody  else  for  them  to 
live  in.  That  beats  any  foolishness  ever  come  my  way." 

*'  And  there's  some  consider'ole  come  your  way  at  that, 
ain't  they,  Is  ?  "  observed  Laban,  busy  with  his  bookkeeping. 

Issachar  nodded.  '*  You're  right  there  has,"  he  said  com 
placently.  "I  ...  What  do  you  mean  by  that ?  Tryin' 
to  be  funny  again,  ain't  you  ?  " 

Albert  heard  the  news  with  a  distinct  feeling  of  relief. 
\Vhile  the  feeling  on  his  part  toward  Madeline  was  of  the 
kindliest,  and  Madeline's  was,  he  felt  sure,  the  same  toward 
him,  nevertheless  to  meet  her  day  after  day,  as  people  must 
meet  in  a  village  no  bigger  than  South  Harniss,  would  be 
awkward  for  both.  And  to  meet  Mrs.  Fosdick  might  be 
more  awkward  still.  He  smiled  as  he  surmised  thai  the 
realization  by  the  lady  of  that  very  awkwardness  was  prob 
ably  responsible  for  the  discovery  that  sea  air  was  not  bene 
ficial. 

The  story-writing  and  the  story  evenings  continued.  Over 
the  fourth  story  in  the  series  discussion  was  warm,  for  there 
were  marked  differences  of  opinion  among  the  listeners. 
One  of  the  experiences  through  which  Albert  had  brought 
his  hero  was  that  of  working  as  general  assistant  to  a  sharp, 


THE  PORTYGEE  343 

unscrupulous  and  smooth-tongued  rascal  who  was  proprie 
tor  of  a  circus  sideshow  and  fake  museum.  He  was  a 
kind-hearted  swindler,  but  one  who  never  let  a  question  of 
honesty  interfere  with  the  getting  of  a  dollar.  In  this  fourth 
story,  to  the  town  where  the  hero,  now  a  man  of  twenty-five, 
had  established  himself  in  business,  came  this  cheat  of  other 
days,  but  now  he  came  as  a  duly  ordained  clergyman  in  an 
swer  to  the  call  of  the  local  church.  The  hero  learned  that 
he  had  not  told  the  governing  body  of  that  church  of  his 
former  career.  Had  he  done  so,  they  most  certainly  would 
not  have  called  him.  The  leading  man  in  that  church  body 
was  the  hero's  patron  and  kindest  friend.  The  question: 
What  was  the  hero's  duty  in  the  matter  ? 

Of  course  the  first  question  asked  was  whether  or  not  the 
ex-sideshow  proprietor  was  sincerely  repentant  and  hon 
estly  trying  to  walk  the  straight  path  and  lead  others  along 
it.  Albert  replied  that  his  hero  had  interviewed  him  and 
was  satisfied  that  he  was ;  he  had  been  "  converted  "  at  a 
revival  and  was  now  a  religious  enthusiast  whose  one  idea 
was  to  save  sinners. 

That  was  enough  for  Captain  Zelotes. 

"  Let  him  alone,  then/'  said  the  captain.  *'  He's  tryin'  to 
be  a  decent  man.  What  do  you  want  *o  do?  Tell  on  him 
and  have  him  chucked  overboard  from  one  church  after  an 
other  until  he  gets  discouraged  and  takes  to  swindlin' 
again?" 

Rachel  Ellis  could  not  see  it  that  way. 

"  If  he  was  a  saved  sinner,"  she  declared,  **  and  re 
pentant  of  his  sins,  then  he'd  ought  to  repent  'em  out  loud. 
Hidin'  'em  ain't  repentin'.  And,  besides,  there's  Donald's 
(Donald  was  the  hero's  name)  there's  Donald's  duty  to  the 
man  that's  been  so  good  to  him.  Is  it  fair  to  that  man  to 
keep  still  and  let  him  hire  a  minister  that,  like  as  not,  will 
steal  the  collection,  box  and  all,  afore  he  gets  through?  No, 
sir,  Donald  ought  to  tell  that  man,  anyhow." 

Olive  was  pretty  dubious  about  the  whole  scheme.  She 
doubted  if  anybody  connected  with  a  circus  could  ever  be 
come  a  minister. 


344  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  The  whole  —  er  —  er  —  trade  is  so  different,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Kendall  was  not  there  that  evening,  his  attendance 
being  required  at  a  meeting  of  the  Sunday  School  teachers. 
Helen,  however,  was  not  at  that  meeting  and  Captain  Zelotes 
declared  his  intention  of  asking  her  opinion  by  telephone. 

"  She'll  say  same  as  I  do  —  you  <see  if  she  don't,"  he  de 
clared.  When  he  called  the  parsonage,  however,  Maria  Price 
answered  the  phone  and  informed  him  that  Helen  was 
spending  the  evening  with  old  Mrs.  Crowell,  who  lived  but 
a  little  way  from  the  Snow  place.  The  captain  promptly 
called  up  the  Crowell  house. 

"  She's  there  and  she'll  stop  in  here  on  her  way  along," 
he  said  triumphantly.  u  And  she'll  back  me  up  —  you  see." 

But  she  did  not.  She  did  not  "  back  up  "  any  one.  She 
merely  smiled  and  declared  the  problem  too  complicated  to 
answer  offhand. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  Albert  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  After  all, 
he  is  the  one  who  must  settle  it  eventually." 

"  He  won't  tell,"  said  Olive.  "  He's  real  provokin',  isn't 
he  ?  And  now  you  won't  tell,  either,  Helen." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  yet.     But  I  think  he  does." 

Albert,  as  usual,  walked  home  with  her. 

**  How  are  you  gcing  to  answer  your  hero's  riddle?"  she 
asked. 

"  Before  I  tell  you,  suppose  you  tell  me  what  yorr  answer 
would  be." 

She  reflected.  "  Well,"  she  said,  *'  it  seems  to  me  that,  all 
things  being  as  they  are,  he  should  do  this :  He  should  go  to 
the  sideshow  man  —  the  minister  now  —  and  have  a  very 
frank  talk  with  him.  He  should  tell  him  that  he  had  decided 
to  say  nothing  about  the  old  life  and  to  help  him  in  every 
way,  to  be  his  friend  —  provided  that  he  keep  straight,  that 
is  all.  Of  course  more  than  that  would  be  meant,  the  al 
ternative  would  be  there  and  understood,  but  he  need  not 
say  it.  I  think  that  course  of  action  would  be  fair  to  him 
self  and  to  everybody.  That  is  my  answer.  What  is 
yours  ?  " 

He  laughed  quietly.     "Just  that,   of   course,"  he   said. 


THE  PORTYGEE  345 

"You  would  see  it,  I  knew.  You  always  see  down  to  the 
heart  of  things,  Helen.  You  have  the  gift." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  didn't  really  need  a  gift,  this 
particular  problem,  did  it?"  she  said.  "It  is  not  —  excuse 
me  —  it  isn't  exactly  a  new  one." 

"  No,  it  isn't.  It  is  as  old  as  the  hills,  but  there  are  al 
ways  new  twists  to  it." 

"  As  there  are  to  all  our  old  problems." 

"Yes.  By  the  way,  your  advice  about  the  ending  of  my 
third  story  was  exactly  what  I  needed.  The  editor  wrote 
me  he  should  never  have  forgiven  me  if  it  had  ended  in  any 
other  way.  It  probably  zvould  have  ended  in  another  way 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  you.  Thank  you,  Helen." 

"  Oh,  you  know  there  was  really  nothing  to  thank  me  for. 
It  was  all  you,  as  usual.  Have  you  planned  the  next  story, 
the  fifth,  yet?" 

"  Not  entirely.  I  have  some  vague  ideas.  Do  you  want 
to  hear  them  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

So  they  discussed  those  ideas  as  they  walked  along  the 
sidewalk  of  the  street  leading  down  to  the  parsonage.  It 
was  a  warm  evening,  a  light  mist,  which  was  not  substantial 
enough  to  be  a  fog,  hanging  low  over  everything,  wrapping 
them  and  the  trees  ana  the  little  front  yards  and  low  houses 
of  the  old  village  in  a  sort  of  cozy,  velvety,  confidential  quiet. 
The  scent  of  lilacs  was  heavy  in  the  air. 

They  both  were  silent.  Just  when  they  had  ceased  speak 
ing  neither  could  have  told.  They  walked  on  arm  in  arm 
and  suddenly  Albert  became  aware  that  this  silence  was 
dangerous  for  him ;  that  in  it  all  his  resolves  and  brave  deter 
minations  were  melting  into  mist  like  that  about  him;  that 
he  must  talk  and  t~lk  at  once  and  upon  a  subject  which  was 
not  personal,  whvJi — 

And  then  Helen  spoke. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  reminds  me  of  ?  "  she  said.  "  All 
this  talk  of  ours?  It  reminds  me  of  how  we  used  ix>  talk 
over  those  first  poems  of  yours.  You  have  gone  a  long  way 
since  then." 


346  THE  PORTYGEE 

"  I  have  gone  to  Kaiserville  and  back." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  mean  your  work  has  im 
proved  wonderfully.  You  write  with  a  sure  hand  now,  it 
seems  to  me.  And  your  view  is  so  much  broader." 

"  I  hope  I'm  not  the  narrow,  conceited  little  rooster  I  used 
to  be.  I  told  you,  Helen,  that  the  war  handed  me  an  awful 
jolt.  Well,  it  did.  I  think  it,  or  my  sickness  or  the  whole 
business  together,  knocked  most  of  that  self-confidence  of 
mine  galley-west.  For  so  much  I'm  thankful." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am,  altogether.  I  don't  want  you  to 
lose  confidence  in  yourself.  You  should  be  confident  now 
because  you  deserve  to  be.  And  you  write  with  confidence, 
or  it  reads  as  if  you  did.  Don't  you  feel  that  you  do,  your 
self?  Truly,  don't  you?" 

"  Well,  perhaps,  a  little.  I  have  been  at  it  for  some  time 
now.  I  ought  to  show  some  progress.  Perhaps  I  don't 
make  as  many  mistakes." 

"  I  can't  see  that  you  have  made  any." 

"  I  have  made  one  ...  a  damnable  one." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  .  .  .  Helen,  do 
you  know  it  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  take  all  this  interest  in 
me  —  in  my  work,  I  mean.  Why  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"Yes,  why?" 

"Why,  because—  Why  shouldn't  I?  Haven't  we  al 
ways  talked  about  your  writings  together,  almost  since  we 
first  knew  each  other?  Aren't  we  old  friends ?  " 

There  it  was  again  —  friends.  It  was  like  a  splash  of 
cold  water  in  the  face,  at  once  awakening  and  chilling.  Al 
bert  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments  and  then  began 
speaking  of  some  trivial  subject  entirel}  disconnected  with 
himself  or  his  work  or  her.  When  they  rcrched  the  parson 
age  door  he  said  good  night  at  once  and  strode  off  toward 
home. 

Back  in  his  room,  however,  he  gave  himself  another  men 
tal  picking  to  pieces.  He  was  realizing  most  distinctly  that 
this  sort  of  thing  would  not  do.  It  was  easy  to  say  that 
his  attitude  toward  Helen  Kendall  was  to  be  that  of 


THE  PORTYGEE  347 

a  friend  and  nothing  more,  but  it  was  growing  harder 
and  harder  to  maintain  that  attitude.  He  haa  come 
within  a  breath  that  very  night  of  saying  what  was  in  his 
heart. 

Well,  if  he  had  said  it,  if  he  did  say  it  —  what  then? 
After  all,  was  there  any  real  reason  why  he  should  not  say 
it  ?  It  was  true  that  he  had  loved,  or  fancied  that  he  loved, 
Madeline,  that  he  had  been  betrothed  to  her  —  but  again, 
wh«,t  of  it?  Broken  engagements  wen  common  enough, 
and  there  was  nothing  disgraceful  in  this  one.  Why  not  go 
to  Helen  and  tell  her  that  his  fancied  love  for  Madeline  had 
been  the  damnable  mistake  he  had  confessed  making.  Why 
not  tell  her  that  since  the  moment  when  he  saw  her  standing 
in  the  doorway  of  the  parsonage  on  the  morning  following 
his  return  from  New  York  he  had  known  that  she  was  the 
only  woman  in  the  world  for  him,  that  it  was  her  image  he 
had  seen  in  his  dreams,  in  the  delirium  of  fever,  that  it  was 
she,  and  not  that  other,  who  — 

But  there,  all  this  was  foolishness,  and  he  knew  it.  He 
did  not  dare  say  it.  Not  for  one  instant  had  she,  by  speech 
or  look  or  action,  given  him  the  slightest  encouragement  to 
think  her  feeling  for  him  was  anything  but  friendship.  And 
that  friendship  was  far  too  precious  to  risk.  He  must  not 
risk  it.  He  must  keep  still,  h^  must  hide  his  thoughts,  she 
must  never  guess.  Some  day,  perhaps,  after  a  year  or  two, 
after  his  position  in  his  profession  was  more  assured,  then 
he  might  speak.  But  even  then  there  would  be  that  risk. 
And  the  idea  of  waiting  was  not  pleasant.  What  had  Ra 
chel  told  him  concerning  the  hosts  of  doctors  and  officers 
and  generals  who  had  been  "  shining  up  "  to  her.  Some  risk 
there,  also. 

Well,  never  mind.  He  would  try  to  keep  on  as  he  had 
been  going  for  the  present.  He  would  try  not  to  see  her 
as  frequently.  If  the  strain  became  unbearable  he  might 
go  away  somewhere  —  for  a  time. 

He  did  not  go  away,  but  he  made  it  a  point  not  to  sec  her 
as  frequently.  However,  they  met  often  even  as  it  was. 


348  THE  PORTYGEE 

And  he  was  conscious  always  that  the  ice  beneath  his  feet 
-was  very,  very  thin. 

One  wonderful  August  evening  he  was  in  his  room  up- 
i,tairs.  He  was  not  writing.  He  had  come  up  there  early 
because  he  wished  to  think,  to  consider.  A  proposition  had 
been  made  to  him  that  afternoon,  a  surprising  proposition  — 
to  him  it  had  come  as  a  complete  surprise  —  and  before 
mentioning  it  even  to  his  grandparents  he  wished  to  think 
it  over  very  caref .  lly. 

About  ten  o'clock  his  grandfather  called  to  him  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  and  asked  him  to  come  down. 

"  Mr.  Kendall's  on  the  phone,"  said  Captain  Zelotes. 
"  He's  worried  about  Helen.  She's  up  to  West  Harniss  sit- 
tin'  up  along  of  Lurany  Howes,  who's  been  sick  so  long. 
She  am't  come  home,  and  the  old  gentleman's  frettin'  about 
h~r  walkin'  down  from  there  alone  so  late.  I  told  him  I 
cal'lated  you'd  just  as  soon  harness  Jess  and  drive  up  and 
get  her.  You  talk  with  him  yourself,  Al." 

Albert  did  and,  after  assuring  the  nervous  clergyman 
that  he  would  see  that  his  daughter  reached  home  safely,  put 
on  his  hat  and  went  out  to  the  barn.  Jessamine  was  asleep 
in  her  stall.  As  he  was  about  to  lead  her  out  he  sudden!y 
remembered  that  one  of  the  traces  had  broken  that  morning 
and  Captain  Zelotes  had  left  it  at  the  harness-maker's  to  be 
mended.  It  was  there  yet.  The  captain  had  forgotten  the 
fact,  and  so  had  he.  That  settled  the  idea  of  using  Jessa 
mine  and  the  bugg>.  Never  mind,  it  was  a  beautiful  night 
and  the  walk  was  but  little  over  a  mile. 

When  he  reached  the  tiny  story-and-a-half  Howes  cot 
tage,  sitting  back  from  the  road  upon  the  knoll  amid  the 
Ungle  of  silverleaf  sprouts,  it  was  Helen  herself  who  opened 
the  door.  She  was  surprised  to  see  him,  and  when  he  ex 
plained  his  errand  she  was  a  little  vexed. 

"  The  idea  of  Father's  worrying;,"  she  said.  "  Such  a 
wonderful  night  as  this,  bright  moonlight,  and  in  South  Har 
niss,  too.  Nothing  evei  happens  to  people  in  South  Har 
niss.  I  will  be  ready  in  a  minute  or  two.  Mrs.  Howes' 
siece  is  here  now  and  will  stay  with  her  until  to-morrow. 


THE  PORTYGEE  349 

Then  her  sister  is  coming  to  stay  a  month.    As  soon  as  I 
get  her  medicine  ready  we  can  go." 

The  door  of  the  tiny  bedroom  adjoining  the  sitting  room 
was  open,  and  Albert,  sitting  upon  the  lounge  with  the  faded 
likeness  of  a  pink  dog  printed  on  the  plush  cover,  could  hear 
the  querulous  voice  of  the  invalid  within.  Tne  widow 
Howes  was  deaf  and,  as  Laban  Keeler  described  it,  "  al 
ways  hollered  loud  enough  to  make  herself  hear  "  when  she 
spoke.  Helen  was  moving  quietly  about  the  sick  room  and 
speaking  in  a  low  tone.  Albert  could  not  hear  what  she 
said,  but  he  could  hear  Lurania. 

"  You're  a  wonder,  that's  what  you  be,"  declared  the  lat 
ter,  "  and  I  told  your  pa  so  last  time  he  was  here.  *  She's 
a  saint,'  says  I,  '  if  ever  there  was  one  on  this  earth.  She's 
the  nicest,  smartest,  best-lookin'  girl  in  this  town  and  .  .  .' 
eh?" 

There  had  been  a  murmur,  presumably  of  remonstrance, 
from  Helen. 

"Eh?" 

Another  murmur. 

"  Eh?     Who'd  you  say  was  there ?  " 

A  third  murmur. 

"Who?  .  .  .  Oh,  that  Speranzy  one?  Lote  Snow's 
grandson?  The  one  they  used  to  call  the  Portygee?  .  .  . 
Eh?  Well,  all  right,  I  don't  care  if  he  did  hear  me.  If  he 
don't  know  you're  nice  and  smart  and  good-lookin',  it's  high 
time  he  did." 

Helen,  a  trifle  embarrassed  but  laughing,  emerged  a  mo 
ment  later,  and  when  she  had  put  on  her  hat  she  and  Albert 
left  the  Howes  cottage  and  began  their  walk  home.  It  was 
one  of  those  nights  such  as  Cape  Codders,  year-rounders  or 
visitors,  experience  three  or  four  times  during  a  summer  and 
boast  of  the  remainder  of  the  year.  A  sky  clear,  deep, 
stretched  cloudless  from  horizon  to  horizon.  Every  light 
at  sea  or  on  shore,  in  cottage  window  or  at  masthead  or  in 
lighthouse  or  on  lightship  a  twinkling  diamond  point.  A 
moon,  apparently  as  big  as  a  barrel-head,  hung  un  in  the 
east  and  below  it  a  carpet  of  cold  fire,  of  dancing,  spangled 


350  THE  PORTYGEE 

silver  spread  upon  the  ocean.  The  sound  of  the  surf,  dis 
tant,  soothing;  and  for  the  rest  quiet  and  the  fragrance  of 
the  summer  woods  and  fields. 

They  walked  rather  fast  at  first  and  the  conversation  was 
brisk,  but  as  the  night  began  to  work  its  spell  upon  them 
their  progress  was  slower  and  there  were  intervals  of  si 
lence  of  which  neither  was  aware.  They  came  to  the  little 
hill  where  the  narrow  road  from  West  Harniss  comes  to 
join  the  broader  highway  leading  to  the  Center.  There 
were  trees  here,  a  pine  grove,  on  the  landward  side,  and 
toward  the  sea  nothing  to  break  the  glorious  view. 

Helen  c?ught  her  breath.  "  Oh,  it  is  beautiful,  beauti 
ful  !  "  she  said. 

Albert  did  not  answer.  "  Why  don't  you  talk  ? "  she 
asked.  "  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 

He  did  not  tell  her  what  he  was  thinking  about.  Instead, 
having  caught  himself  just  in  time,  he  began  telling  her  of 
what  he  had  been  thinking  when  h:s  grandfather  called  him 
to  the  telephone. 

*'  Helen,'1  he  said,  *'  I  want  to  ask  your  advice.  I  had  an 
astonishing  proposal  made  to  me  this  afternoon.  I  must 
make  a  decision,  I  must  say  yes  or  no,  and  I'm  not  sure 
which  to  say." 

She  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  This  afternoon,"  he  went  on,  "  Doctor  Parker  called  me 
into  his  office.  There  was  a  group  of  men  there,  prominent 
men  in  politics  from  about  the  country ;  Judge  Baxte/  from 
Ostable  was  there,  and  Captain  Warren  from  South  Den- 
boro,  and  others  like  them.  What  do  you  suppose  they 
want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine." 

"  They  offer  me  the  party  nomination  for  Congress  from 
this  section.  That  is,  of  course,  they  want  me  to  permit  my 
name  to  stand  and  they  seem  sure  my  nomination  will  be 
confirmed  by  the  voters.  The  nomination,  they  say,  is  equiv 
alent  to  election.  They  seem  certain  of  it.  ...  And  they 
were  insistent  that  I  accept." 

"Oh  — oh,  Albert!" 


THE  PORTYGEE  351 

*'  Yes.  They  said  a  good  many  flattering  things,  things  I 
should  like  to  believe.  They  said  my  war  record  and  my 
writing  and  all  that  had  made  me  a  prominent  man  in  the 
county —  Please  don't  think  I  take  any  stock  in  that — " 

"  But  *  do.     Go  on." 

"  Well,  that  is  all.  They  seemed  confident  that  I  would 
make  a  good  congressman.  I  am  not  so  sure.  Of  course 
the  thing  .  .  .  well,  it  does  tempt  me,  I  confess.  I  could 
keep  on  with  my  writing,  of  course.  I  should  have  to  leave 
the  home  people  for  a  part  of  the  year,  but  I  could  be  with 
them  or  near  them  the  rest.  And  .  .  .  well,  Helen,  I  —  I 
think  I  should  like  the  job.  Just  now,  when  America  needs 
Americans  and  the  thing  that  isn't  American  must  be  fought, 
I  should  like  —  if  I  were  sure  I  was  capable  of  it — " 

'*  Oh,  but  you  are  —  you  are" 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  Would  you  like  to  have  me 
try?" 

He  felt  her  arm  tremble  upon  his.  She  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"  Oh,  I  should  be  so  proud!"  she  breathed. 

There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice,  almost  a  sob.  He  bent 
toward  her.  She  was  looking  off  toward  the  sea,  the  moon 
light  upon  her  face  was  like  a  glory,  her  eyes  were  shining 
—  and  there  were  tears  in  them. 

His  heart  throbbed  wildly. 

"Helen!"  he  cried.     "  Helen!" 

She  turned  and  looked  up  into  his  face.  The  next  mo 
ment  her  own  face  was  hidden  against  his  breast,  his  arms 
were  about  her,  and  .  .  .  and  the  risk,  the  risk  he  had 
feared  to  take,  was  taken. 

They  walked  home  after  a  time,  but  it  was  a  slow,  a  very 
slow  walk  with  many  interruptions. 

*'  Oh,  Helen,"  he  kept  saying,  **  I  don't  see  how  you  can. 
How  can  you  ?  In  spite  of  it  all.  I  —  I  treated  you  so 
badly.  I  was  such  an  idiot.  And  you  really  care?  You 
really  do?" 

She  laughed  happily.  "  I  really  do  ...  and  .  .  .  and  I 
really  hav3,  all  the  time." 


352  THE  PORTYGEE 

"Always?" 

"  Always." 

*'  Well  —  well,  by  George !  And  .  .  .  Helen,  do  you 
know  I  think  —  I  think  I  did  too  —  always  —  only  I  was 
such  a  young  fool  I  didn't  realize  it.  What  a  young  fool  I 
was!" 

"  Don't  say  that,  dear,  don't.  .  .  .  You  are  going  to  be  a 
great  man.  You  are  a  famous  one  already ;  you  are  going 
to  be  great.  Don't  you  know  that  ?  " 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

*'  I  think  I  shall  have  to  be,"  he  said,  "  if  I  am  going  to 
be  worthy  of  you." 


CHAPTER  XX 

ALBERT,  sitting  in  the  private  office  of  Z.  Snow  and 
Co.,  dropped  his  newspaper  and  looked  up  with  a 
smile  as  his  grandfather  came  in.  Captain  Zelotes' 
florid  face  was  redder  even  than  usual,  for  it  was  a  cloudy 
day  in  October  and  blowing  a  gale. 

"  Whew !  "  puff ed  the  captain,  pulling  off  his  overcoat  and 
striding  over  to  warm  his  h?nds  at  the  stove ;  "  it's  raw  as 
January  comin'  over  the  tops  of  those  Trumet  hills,  and 
blowin'  hard  enough  to  part  your  back  hair,  besides.  One 
time  there  I  didn't  know  but  I'd  have  to  reef,  cal'late  I  would 
if  I'd  known  how  U>  reef  an  automobile." 

"  Is  the  car  running  as  well  as  ever  ?  "  asked  Albert. 

"  You  bet  you !  Took  all  but  two  of  those  hills  on  full 
steam  and  never  slowed  down  a  mite.  Think  of  goin'  to 
Trumet  and  back  in  a  forenoon,  and  havin'  time  enough  to 
do  the  talkin'  I  went  to  do  besides.  Why,  Jess  would  have 
needed  the  whole  day  to  make  the  down  cruise,  to  say  nothin' 
of  the  return  trip.  Well,  the  old  gal's  havin'  a  good  rest 
now,  nothin'  much  to  do  but  eat  and  sleep.  She  deserves  it ; 
she's  been  a  good  horse  for  your  grandma  and  'me." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  before  the  stove  and  chuckled. 

"  Olive's  still  scared  to  death  for  fear  I'll  get  run  into,  or 
run  over  somebody  or  somethin',"  he  observed.  *'  I  tell  her 
I  can  navigate  that  car  now  the  way  I  used  to  navigate  the 
old  President  Hayes,  and  I  could  do  that  walkin'  in  my 
sleep.  There's  a  little  exaggeration  there,"  he  added,  with 
a  grin.  *'  It  takes  about  all  my  gumption  when  I'm  wide 
awake  to  turn  the  flivver  around  in  a  narrow  road,  but  I 
manage  to  do  it.  ...  Well,  what  are  you  doin'  in  here, 
Al  ?  "  he  added.  "  Readin'  the  Item's  prophesy  about  how 
big  your  rnajority's  goin'  to  be:  " 

Albert  smiled.  "  I  dropped  in  here  to  wait  for  you, 

353 


354  THE  PORTYGEE 

Grandfather,"  he  replied.  '*  The  novel-writing  mill  wasn't 
working  particularly  well,  so  I  gave  it  up  and  took  a  walk." 

*'  To  the  parsonage,  I  presume  likely?  " 

"  Well,  I  did  stop  there  for  a  minute  or  two." 

"  You  don't  say !  I'm  surprised  to  hear  it.  How  is  Helen 
this  mornin'  ?  Did  she  think  you'd  changed  much  since  you 
saw  her  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  She  didn't  say  so  if  she  did.  She  sent 
her  love  to  you  and  Grandmother  — " 

"  What  she  had  left  over,  you  mean." 

'*  And  said  to  tell  you  not  to  tire  yourself  out  election 
eering  for  me.  That  was  good  advice,  too.  Grandfather, 
don't  you  know  that  you  shouldn't  motor  all  the  way  to 
Trumet  and  back  a  morning  like  this?  I'd  rather  —  much 
rather  go  without  the  votes  than  have  you  do  such  things." 

Captain  Zelotes  seated  himself  in  his  desk  chair. 

"  But  you  ain't  goin'  to  do  without  'em/'  he  chuckled. 
*'  Obed  Nye — he's  chairman  of  the  Trumet  committee  — 
riggers  you'll  have  a  five-to-one  majority.  He  told  me  to 
practice  callin'  you  *  the  Honorable '  because  that's  what 
you'd  be  by  Tuesday  night  of  week  after  next.  And  next 
winter  Mother  and  I  will  be  takin'  a  trip  to  Washin'ton  so 
as  to  set  in  the  gallery  and  listen  to  you  makin'  speeches. 
We'll  be  some  consider'ble  proud  of  you,  too,  boy,"  he 
added,  with  a  nod. 

His  grandson  looked  away,  out  of  the  window,  over  the 
bleak  yard  with  its  piles  of  lumber.  The  voice  of  Issacher 
raised  in  expostulation  with  the  driver  of  Gaboon's  '*  truck- 
wagon  "  could  be  faintly  heard. 

"  I  shall  hate  to  leave  you  and  Grandmother  and  the  old 
place,"  he  said.  "  If  I  am  elected—" 

"  When  you're  elected ;  there  isn't  aiiy  '  if/  " 

"Well,  all  right.  I  shall  hate  to  leave  South  Harniss. 
Every  person  I  really  care  for  will  be  here.  Helen  —  and 
you  people  at  home." 

4<  It's  too  bad  you  and  Helen  can't  be  married  and  go  to 
Washin'ton  together.  Not  to  stay  permanent,"  he  added 
quickly,  "  but  just  while  Congress  is  in  session.  Your 


THE  PORTYGEE  355 

grandma  says  then  she'd  feel  as  if  you  had  somebody  to  look 
after  you.  She  always  figgers,  you  know,  that  a  man  ain't 
capable  of  lookin'  out  for  himself.  There'd  ought  to  be  at 
least  one  woman  to  take  care  of  him,  see  that  he  don't  get 
his  feet  wet  and  goes  to  meetin'  reg'lar  and  so  on ;  if  there 
could  be  two,  so  much  the  better.  Mother  would  have  made 
a  pretty  good  Mormon,  in  some  ways." 

Albert  laughed.  "  Helen  feels  she  must  stay  with  her 
father  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  she  is  right. 
Perhaps  by  and  by  we  can  find  some  good  capable  house 
keeper  to  share  the  responsibility,  but  not  this  winter.  //  I 
am  sent  to  Washington  I  shall  come  back  often,  you  may  be 
sure." 

"  When  are  you  cal'latin'  to  be  married,  if  that  ain't  a 
secret?" 

"  Perhaps  next  spring.  Certainly  next  fall.  It  will  de 
pend  upon  Mr.  Kendall's  health.  But,  Grandfather,  I  do 
feel  rather  like  a  deserter,  going  off  and  leaving  you  here  — " 

"  Good  Lord !  You  don't  cal'late  I'm  breakin'  down,  run- 
nin'  strong  to  talk  and  weakenin'  everywhere  else,  like  old 
Minister  Kendall,  do  you  ?  " 

"Well,  hardly.  But  .  .  .  well,  you  see,  I  have  felt  i 
little  ungrateful  ever  since  I  came  back  from  the  war.  In  a 
way  I  am  sorry  that  I  feel  I  must  give  myself  entirely  to  my 
writing  —  and  my  political  work.  I  wish  I  might  have  gone 
on  here  in  this  office,  accepted  that  partnership  you  would 
have  given  me  — " 

*'  You  can  have  it  yet,  you  know.  Might  take  it  and  just 
keep  it  to  fall  back  on  in  case  that  story-mill  of  years  busts 
altogether  or  all  hands  in  Ostable  County  go  crazy  and  vote 
the  wrong  ticket.  Just  take  it  and  wait.  Always  well  to 
have  an  anchor  ready  to  let  go,  you  know." 

*'  Thanks,  but  that  wouldn't  be  fair.  I  wish  I  might  have 
taken  it  —  for  your  sake.  I  wish  for  your  sake  I  were  so 
constituted  as  to  be  good  for  something  at  it.  Of  course  I 
don't  mean  by  that  that  I  should  be  willing  to  give  up  my 
writing  —  but  —  well,  you  see,  Grandfather,  I  owe  you  an 
awful  lot  in  this  world  .  .  .  and  I  know  you  had  set  your 


356  THE  PORTYGEE 

heart  on  my  being  your  partner  in  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  I  know 
you're  disappointed." 

Captain  Lote  did  not  answer  instantly.  He  seemed  to  be 
thinking.  Then  he  opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk  and  took 
out  a  box  of  cigars  similar  to  those  he  had  offered  the  Hon 
orable  Fletcher  Fosdick  on  the  occasion  of  their  memorable 
interview. 

"  Smoke,  Al  ?  "  he  asked.  Albert  declined  because  of  the 
nearness  to  dinner  time,  but  the  captain,  who  never  per 
mitted  meals  or  anything  else  to  interfere  with  his  smoking, 
lighted  one  of  the  cigars  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  puff 
ing  steadily. 

"We-11,  Al,"  he  said  slowly,  "I'll  tell  you  about  that. 
There  was  a  time  —  I'll  own  up  that  there  was  a  time  when 
the  idea  you  wasn't  goin'  to  turn  out  a  business  man  and  the 
partner  who  would  take  over  this  concern  after  I  got  my 
clearance  papers  was  a  notion  I  wouldn't  let  myself  think  of 
for  a  minute.  I  wouldn't  think  of  it,  that's  all.  But  I've 
changed  my  mind  about  that,  as  I  have  about  some  other 
things."  He  paused,  tugged  ac  his  beard,  and  then  added, 
"  And  I  guess  likely  I  might  as  well  own  up  to  the  whole 
t.uth  while  I'm  about  it:  I  didn't  change  it  because  I 
wanted  to,  but  because  I  couldn't  help  it  —  'twas  changed 
for  me." 

He  made  this  statement  more  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud 
than  as  if  he  expected  a  reply.  A  moment  later  he  con 
tinued. 

11  Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  "  'twas  changed  for  me.  And,"  with 
a  shrug,  *  I'd  rather  prided  myself  that  when  my  mind  was 
made  up  it  stayed  that  way.  But  —  but,  well,  consarn  it, 
I've  about  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  a  pig-headed  old 
fool,  Al,  in  some  ways." 

"  Nonsense,  Grandfather.     You  are  the  last  man  to  — " 

*'  Oh,  I  don't  mean  a  candidate  for  the  feeble-minded 
school.  There  ain't  been  any  Snows  put  there  that  I  can 
remember,  not  our  branch  of  'em,  anyhow.  But,  consarn  it, 
I  —  I  — "  he  was  plainly  finding  it  hard  to  express  his 
thought,  "I  —  well,  I  used  to  think  I  knew  consider'ble,  had 


THE  PORTYGEE  357 

what  I  liked  to  think  was  good,  hard  sense.  'Twas  hard 
enough,  I  cal'late  —  pretty  nigh  petrified  in  spots." 

Albert  laid  a  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,"  he  replied  impulsively.  "  I  don't 
like  to  hear  you." 

"  Don't  you?  Then  I  won't.  But,  you  see,  Al,  it  bothers 
me.  Look  how  I  used  to  talk  about  makin'  up  poetry  and 
writin'  yarns  and  all  that.  Used  to  call  it  silliness  and  a 
waste  of  time,  I  did  —  worse  names  than  that,  generally. 
And  look  what  you're  makin'  at  it  in  money,  to  say  nothin' 
of  its  shovin'  you  into  Congress,  and  keepin'  the  newspapers 
busy  printin'  stuff  about  you.  .  .  .  Well,  well,"  with  a  sigh 
of  resignation,  "  I  don't  understand  it  yet,  but  know  it's 
so,  and  if  I'd  had  my  pig-headed  way  'twouldn't  have  been 
so.  It's  a  dreadful  belittlin'  feelin'  to  a  man  at  my  time  of 
life,  a  man  that's  commanded  ten-thousand-ton  steamers  and 
handled  crews  and  bossed  a  business  like  this.  It  makes  him 
wonder  how  many  other  fool  things  he's  done.  .  .  .  Why, 
do  you  know,  Al,"  he  added,  in  a  sudden  burst  of  confidence, 
"  I  was  consider'ble  prejudiced  against  you  when  you  first 
came  here." 

He  made  the  statement  as  if  he  expected  it  to  come  as  a 
stunning  surprise.  Albert  would  not  have  laughed  for  the 
world,  nor  in  one  way  did  he  feel  like  it,  but  it  was  funny. 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  were,  a  little,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I 
don't  wonder." 

*'  Oh,  I  don't  mean  just  because  you  was  your  father's 
son.  I  mean  on  your  own  account,  in  a  way.  Somehow, 
you  see,  I  couldn't  believe  —  eh  ?  Oh,  come  in,  Labe !  It's 
all  right.  Al  and  I  are  just  talkin'  about  nothin'  in  partic 
ular  and  all  creation  in  general." 

Mr.  Feeler  entered  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Sorry  to  bother  you,  Cap'n  Lote,"  he  said,  "  but  this  bill 
of  Colby  and  Sons  for  that  last  lot  of  hardware  ain't  ac- 
cordin'  to  agreement.  The  prices  on  those  butts  ain't  right, 
and  neither's  those  half-inch  screws.  Better  send  it  back  to 
em,  eh?" 

Captain  Zelotes  inspected  the  bill. 


358  THE  PORTYGEE 

"Humph!"  he  grunted.  "You're  right,  Labe.  You 
generally  are,  I  notice.  Yes,  send  it  back  and  tell  'em-- 
anything  you  want  to." 

Laban  smiled.  "  I  want  to,  all  right,"  he  said.  "  This  is 
the  third  time  they've  sent  wrong  bills  inside  of  two  months. 
Well,  Al,"  turning  toward  him,  "  I  cal'late  this  makes  you 
kind  of  homesick,  don't  it  this  talk  about  bil-s  and  screws 
and  bolts  and  such?  Wa'n't  teasin'  for  your  old  job  back 
again,  was  you,  Al?  Cal'late  he  could  have  it,  couldn't  he, 
Cap'n?  We'll  need  somebody  to  heave  a  bucket  of  water 
on  Issy  pretty  soon;  he's  gettin'  kind  of  pert  and  uppish 
again.  Pretty  much  so.  Yes,  yes,  yes." 

He  departed,  chuckling.  Captain  Zelotes  looked  after 
him.  He  tugged  at  his  beard. 

"  Al,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  what  I've  about  made  up  my 
mind  to  do  ?  " 

Albert  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  about  made  up  my  mind  to  take  Labe  Keeler  into 
the  firm  of  Z.  Snow  and  Co.  You  won't  come  in,  and,"  with 
a  twinkle,  "  I  need  somebody  to  keep  my  name  from  gettin' 
lonesome  on  the  sign." 

Albert  was  delighted. 

"Bully  for  you,  Grandfather!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
couldn't  do  a  better  thing  for  Labe  or  for  the  firm.  And  he 
deserves  it,  too." 

"  Ye-es,  I  think  he  does.  Labe's  a  mighty  faithful,  ca 
pable  feller,  and  now  that  he's  sworn  off  on  those  vacations 
of  his  he  can  be  trusted  anywheres.  Yes,  I've  as  good  as 
made  up  my  mind  to  take  him  in.  Of  course,"  with  the 
twinkle  in  evidence  once  more,  "  Issachar'll  be  a  little  mite 
jealous,  but  we'll  have  to  bear  up  under  that  as  best  we 
can." 

"  I  wonder  what  Labe  will  say  when  you  tell  him?  " 

"  He'll  say  yes.  I'll  tell  Rachel  flirt  and  she'll  tell  him 
to  say  it.  And  then  I'll  tell  'em  both  I  won't  do  it  unless 
they  agree  to  get  married.  I've  always  said  I  didn't  want 
to  die  till  I'd  been  to  that  weddin'.  I  want  to  hear  Rachel 
tell  the  minister  she'll  '  obey  '  Labe.  Ho,  ho !  " 


THE  PORTYGEE  359 

*'  Do  you  suppose  they  ever  will  be  married  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  kind  of  think  so.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they 
would  be  right  off  now  if  it  wasn't  that  Rachel  wouldn't 
think  of  givin'  up  keepin'  house  for  your  grandmother. 
She  wouldn't  do  that  and  Labe  wouldn't  want  her  to.  I've 
got  to  fix  that  somehow.  Perhaps  they  could  live  along  with 
us.  Land  knows  there's  room  enough.  They're  all  right, 
those  two.  Kind  of  funny  to  look  at,  and  they  match  up  in 
size  like  a  rubber  boot  and  a  slipper,  but  I  declare  I  don't 
know  which  h.  s  got  the  most  common-sense  or  the  biggest 
heart.  And  'twould  be  hard  to  tell  which  thinks  the  most 
of  you,  Al.  .  .  .  Eh?  Why,  it's  after  half-past  twelve 
o'clock!  Olive'll  be  for  combin'  our  topknots  with  a  be- 
layin'  pin  if  we  keep  her  dinner  waian'  like  this." 

As  they  were  putting  on  their  coats  the  captain  spoke 
again. 

"  I  hadn't  finished  what  I  was  sayin'  to  you  when  Labe 
came  in,"  he  observed.  "  'Twasn't  much  account;  just  a 
sort  of  confession,  and  they  say  that's  good  for  the  soul.  I 
was  just  goin'  to  say  that  when  you  first  came  here  I  was 
prejudiced  against  you,  not  only  because  your  father  and  I 
didn't  agree,  but  because  he  was  what  he  was.  Because  he 
was  —  was  — " 

Albert  finished  the  sentence  for  him. 

"  A  Portygee,"  he  said. 

"Why,  yes,  that's  what  I  called  him.  That's  what  I 
used  to  call  about  everybody  that  wasn't  born  right  down 
here  in  Yankeeland.  I  used  to  be  prejudiced  against  you 
because  you  was  what  I  called  a  half-breed.  I'm  sorry,  Al. 
I'm  ashamed.  See  what  you've  turned  out  to  be.  I  de 
clare,  I  — " 

"  Shh !  shh !  Don't,  Grandfather.  When  T  came  here  I 
was  a  little  snob,  a  conceited,  insufferable  little  — " 

*'  Here,  here !  Hold  on !  No,  you  wa'n't,  neither.  Or 
if  you  was,  you  was  only  a  boy.  I  was  a  man,  and  I  ought 
to—" 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  finish.  Whatever  I  am  now,  or  what 
ever  I  may  be,  I  owe  to  you,  and  to  Grandmother,  and  Ra- 


360  THE  PORTYGEE 

chel  and  Laban  —  and  Helen.  You  made  me  over  between 
you.  I  know  that  now." 

They  walked  home  instead  of  riding  in  the  new  car.  Cap 
tain  Zelotes  declared  he  had  hung  on  to  that  steering  wheel 
all  the  forenoon  and  he  was  afraid  if  he  took  it  again  his 
fingers  would  grow  fast  to  the  rim.  As  they  emerged  from 
the  office  into  the  open  air,  he  said : 

'*  Al,  regardin'  that  makin'-over  business,  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  it  was  a  kind  of  —  er  —  mutual  thing  between 
you  and  me.  We  both  had  some  prejudices  to  get  rid  of, 
eh?" 

"  Perhaps  so.     I'm  sure  I  did." 

"  And  I'm  sartin  sure  I  did.  And  the  war  and  all  that 
came  with  it  put  the  finishin'  touches  to  the  job.  When  I 
think  of  what  the  thousands  and  thousands  of  men  did  over 
there  in  those  hell-holes  of  trenches,  men  with  names  that 
run  all  the  way  from  Jones  and  Kelly  to  —  er  — " 

"  Speranza." 

"  Yes,  and  Whiskervitch  and  the  land  knows  what  more. 
When  I  think  of  that  I'm  ready  to  take  off  my  hat  to  'em 
and  swear  I'll  never  be  so  narrow  again  as  to  look  down  on 
a  feller  because  he  ^on't  happen  to  be  born  in  Ostable 
County.  There's  only  one  thing  I  ask  of  'em,  and  that  is 
that  when  they  come  here  to  live  -  -  to  stay  —  under  our 
laws  and  takin'  advantage  of  the  privileges  we  offer  'em  — 
they'll  stop  bein'  Portygees  or  Russians  or  Polacks  or  what 
ever  they  used  to  be  or  their  folks  were,  and  just  be  Ameri 
cans  —  like  you,  Al." 

"  That's  what  we  must  work  for  now,  Grandfather.  It's 
a  big  job,  but  it  must  be  done." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  time.  Then  the  captain 
said: 

"  It's  a  pretty  fine  country,  after  all,  ain't  it,  Albert?  " 

Albert  looked  about  him  over  the  rolling  hills,  the  roofs  of 
the  little  town,  the  sea,  the  dunes,  the  pine  groves,  the  scene 
which  had  grown  so  familiar  to  him  and  which  had  become 
in  his  eyes  so  precious. 

"  It  is  my  country,"  he  declared,  with  emphasis. 


THE  PORTYGEE  361 

His  grandfather  caught  his  meaning. 

"  I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way,  son,"  he  said,  "  but  'twasn't 
just  South  Harniss  I  meant  then.  I  meant  all  of  it,  the 
whole  United  States.  It's  got  its  faults,  of  course,  lots  of 
'em.  And  if  I  was  an  Englishman  or  a  Frenchman  I'd 
probably  say  it  wasn't  as  good  as  England  or  France,  which 
ever  it  happened  to  be.  That's  all  right ;  I  ain't  findin'  any 
fault  with  'em  for  that  —  that's  the  way  they'd  ought  to 
feel.  But  you  and  I,  Al,  we're  Americans.  So  the  rest  of 
the  world  must  excuse  us  if  we  say  that,  tak*  it  by  and 
large,  it's  a  mighty  good  country.  We've  planned  for  it, 
and  worked  for  it,  and  fought  for  it,  and  we  know.  Eh  ?  " 

"  Yes.     We  know." 

"  Yes.  And  no  howlin',  wild-eyed  bunch  from  somewhere 
else  that  haven't  done  any  of  these  things  are  goin'  to  come 
here  and  run  it  their  way  if  we  can  help  it  —  we  Ameri 
cans;  eh?" 

Alberto  Miguel  Carlos  Spcranza,  American,  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"  No !  "  he  said,  with  emphasis. 

41  You  bet !  Well,  unless  I'm  mistaken,  I  smell  salt  fish 
and  potatoes,  which,  accordin'  to  Cape  Cod  notion,  is  a  good 
American  dinner.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  Al,  but  I'm 
hungry." 


(3) 
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